“Stop me, Wills,” he pleaded.
His roughness electrified her. No way was she stopping either of them. She pulled his mouth to hers again, claiming him. Then his hands were on her ass, lifting her higher. Her legs circled his waist, her dress bunched around her middle, and she didn’t care. No, that was wrong. For the first time in forever, she did care. She cared a hell of a lot. She wanted her dress to melt off. Panties, too. She didn’t want anything separating them.
His touch was controlling, his kisses raw and sensuous. She became aware of his hardness pressing against her center, his rampant breathing as he intensified their kisses, the scratch of his whiskers against her cheeks, and the air moving over her skin as he carried her across the room. They tumbled down to the mattress in a tangle of limbs, never breaking their connection. His weight pressing down on her was exquisite, and the intoxicating scents of whiskey and man made her head spin. She wanted to lick him, to drink him, to consume him, from his mouth to his ankles and every deliciously hard inch in between.
Desire pounded through her veins as they rocked against each other, sparking so hot she was surprised the sheets didn’t catch flames. He reached over his shoulder and pulled his shirt off, like he’d done all those years ago, when he didn’t want anything separating them. He was giving her a green light, and she wanted to zoom right past it. Her eyes fell to the dusting of dark hair on his chest. She’d seen his body in magazines and in every movie he’d made. And when he’d come back to Sweetwater for visits, she’d seen him playing basketball with Ben shirtless. But she hadn’t looked closely, and she certainly hadn’t been able to touch. It was one thing to see him from afar, but up close and shirtless, when she knew what his body had looked like as a boy on the cusp of manhood? Nothing could have prepared her for the man gazing down at her like she was a pretty little rabbit and he was a hungry wolf. He lowered his mouth to hers again, and she readied herself for his cruel ravishment. She wanted it. God, how she wanted it. But he kissed her so softly, so tenderly, he took her breath away.
His hand moved over her hip, up her ribs, and then his warm, strong hand left her body, avoiding her breast and stroking her cheek. A rush of emotions swamped her. You remembered.
“One kiss,” he whispered. “It was never enough.”
Her entire body arched off the bed, begging for his touch as he pressed his lips to hers in a series of provocative kisses. She wanted to touch his chest. Needed to feel that coarse hair on her fingers so she could recall the memory for her late-night fantasies. But she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, if she touched, she’d want to taste. And if she tasted, she’d want to follow that treasure trail lower. And that was out of the question.
One kiss, she’d told herself.
One kiss to get him out of her system.
One mind-blowing, panty-melting kiss, to ease the mounting tension between them.
He sealed his teeth over her neck and sucked.
Oh, sweet baby Jesus, your mouth.
Her nipples burned with the need to be in his mouth. All that grinding he was doing was creating delicious friction. Oh, wait, she was grinding, too. Stop. Stop grinding. Her hands moved to his ass. And what a fine ass he had. It was firm and round, and every time she squeezed it, he thrust harder. Yes, yes, yes!
His mouth was on a mission to drive her out of her mind. Out of my clothes. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to wade through her tangled emotions. Wanton desires battled with reality. This could never go anywhere. They were playing roles. Or at least they had been. But this passion was as real as the man nipping at her lower lip.
His dark, lustful gaze brought reality rushing in. The years had only kept her feelings at bay. He was her pièce de résistance. She wasn’t anywhere near over him. He was her cherry on top, the summit of a five-tier wedding cake. He was her strength and her weakness.
He must have seen her conflicting emotions, because he drew back and said, “I know,” so tenderly, she wanted to yell, No. You don’t know. Ignore my waffling emotions and take me. Just take me. But she didn’t, and he kissed her again, slow and sweet and painfully delicious. He rolled onto his back and draped his arm over his eyes. “Alcohol wore off?”
“The minute you picked me up after we left the bar,” she said honestly, trying to catch her breath.
He rolled onto his side, taking her hand in his, and smiled down at her. “You weren’t out-of-your-mind drunk when you kissed me in the bar?”
She shook her head. “I had only one shot after our drinks. I was tipsy. Maybe very tipsy. But not drunk.”
He flopped onto his back again, exhaling loudly. “So you were fucking with me?”
She pushed up on her elbow and ran her fingers through his chest hair. It was just as magnificent as she’d dreamed it would be. “Not really. I needed the liquid courage to get past not wanting to kiss you.”
“Not wanting to kiss me? Christ, Wills. Way to stroke my ego.”
She laughed and pressed her lips to the center of his chest. “I’m sure your ego will remain intact despite anything I say or do.”
He hooked an arm around her neck and tugged her down, half beside him, half on top of him. “You’re wrong, you know.”
“About what?”
“Nothing,” he mumbled, and rolled on top of her, pinning her beneath him. “I need a cold shower.” He brushed his lips over hers again. “Want to make it a hot one and join me?”
She laughed, her mind still foggy from making out. “We had our fun. Now get that fine ass of yours off me and go introduce yourself to your right hand.”
He gave her one last loud kiss and moved to the edge of the bed. His broad shoulders rounded forward, and he lowered his face to his hands, breathing deeply. She lay in the middle of the bed, watching him and wondering how they’d gotten there. She was supposed to be catering an event, not helping him fix his bad-boy reputation, and definitely not making out with him and opening all the doors to the past.
He pushed to his feet and stretched. The muscles on his back flexed, making her mouth water. He moved slowly, pulling his wallet, keycard, and phone from his pocket and tossing them on the nightstand. He glanced over his shoulder, and their eyes locked, stirring the emotions she was trying to pretend didn’t own her.
“Last chance, sweet girl.”
She closed her eyes to avoid falling into his. “I’m good, thanks.”
She heard him walk into the bathroom and listened for the door to click shut, but it never did. The sounds of the shower brought her eyes open, imagining Zane stripping out of his jeans and boots. Knowing the only thing separating them was a few inches of drywall made her anxious. And hot. She pushed to the edge of the bed, digging deep for the courage to follow him, and rose to her feet too fast. All her blood rushed south. She reached for the wall to steady herself.