“Judy?”
“I’m twenty-six, not eighty! No.”
“Carmen?”
“No.”
“Can you tell me what it starts with?”
“I can,” she said with a shit-eating grin on her pretty lips. “But not yet. This is entertaining.”
I needed leverage.
“I’ll keep guessing, but I’ll just say this, I don’t kiss women if I don’t know their name.” It was a stretch, but it might get me a little clue.
Her eyes flared wide, like I’d challenged her.
“Oh, Vaughn, Vaughn, Vaughn,” she tsked.
“Oh, you, you, you,” I mocked.
“You’re flirting with me.”
By then we were both leaning over the cooler that separated our chairs.
“Maybe.”
“No, you are. I like it, but sweet-talking me isn’t going to get it out of me. I’ve been months and months without a kiss. I can hold out. I’m patient.” She leaned forward and licked her bottom lip.
Shit. She fought dirty.
“You better get to guessing.”
I guessed every name under the sun. She never relented and gave me a clue, and even though the conversation would veer off when I’d mention a name that struck a memory with one of us, we laughed and enjoyed each other until it started getting late.
I didn’t want to leave.
Correction. I didn’t want to leave without a kiss. Something. Anything.
The more time I spent with her the more I wanted to touch her, and all night I found myself fighting the urge to reach out and put my arm on the back of her chair. Or put my hand on her leg. Anything. I was starving for her.
For the most part she kept her cool, but there were these amazing little moments when I’d catch her with this dreamy look on her face as I spoke to her. And I kept catching her looking at my hands, so I played that to my advantage and used them animatedly when I spoke.
“I hate to say this, because I could sit out here all night, but I need to get home.” My watch read a quarter to eleven. I wanted to be in the office at seven.
“I know. I actually think I’m just going to sleep here tonight. I’ll just drive home in the morning.”
Was that a hint?
Was there something in the way she said that? The way she leaned her head to the side and the amber from the fast burning coals colored her hair, cheek, and neck might have played a trick on me.
I had to adjust a little in my seat.
Knowing I couldn’t, for it would be breaking some rule of the little game we’d created, made me want to kiss her all the more. I wanted to please her with my lips. I wanted my mouth on hers. I wanted to taste her warm skin, get in there and get a lungful of her scent—the same one I’d been teased with all night. I wanted her to moan a little and part her mouth open, and then I wanted her to sneak her tongue to meet mine when I took too long, just so I could see how long it would take her to want more. Then I’d give her more.
Still, I didn’t know her name. And even though I’d made up that stupid rule about not kissing a woman when I didn’t know her name, I was going to stand by it.
As much as I wanted her in that moment, I needed her to know where I stood when it came to giving my word.
I wanted her to trust what I said, to know my words and actions had more value than my touch. Than my kiss.
I’d believed in that kind of thing once.
This time I was going to know the person I was with, and there was something so damn seductive about prying out all of the pieces that made her … her.
“Can I help you with anything before I head back to town?” I asked, totally disappointed that I hadn’t guessed her name.
“Nope, I’m good.” She sighed, looking disappointed too. I liked that.
“So,” I began as we stood at the same time, “do you think you’ll let me guess your name again? Maybe Friday night?”
She bit her lip and failed at hiding a smile. I couldn’t resist any longer, and my hand reached out and touched her arm as she was looking down, making up her mind.
She sucked in a breath and said, “Sure.”
“Good.”
I moved my fingers over her arm and fought the urge to lean in, but failed. Near her ear I said, “And, Friday, if I guess, I’ll kiss you good night.”
Her head leaned into mine and our cheeks touched. O’Fallon’s skin was warm and I wanted more, I’d wait. Then she’d know for sure if she liked me or not. No more, she thinks she likes me a little.
Two could play her sexy little game.
Where did he come up with that stuff? Who in their right mind says those things? I was literally hanging on his every word all night. Something about that voice. Something about the way he spoke. It was so sexy. The words he chose. The intention behind it when he told me he wasn’t going to kiss a girl until he knew her name.
I liked it more than a little.
I liked him.
A lot.
He was funny and sincere, which made me comfortable enough around him that I could be myself, the real me. Not just Mutt, Darrell O’Fallon’s daughter. He was easy to talk to and interesting to listen to.