by Sybil Bartel
His clear, blue-eyed gaze intent on me, he pushed off the wall. Two strides and his mouthwatering scent enveloped me as his flawless face with the perfect amount of five o’clock shadow looked down at me. “I think you’re afraid of me.”
Five foot ten in my heels, I still had to look up at him. “I’m not.” I wasn’t afraid of him. He’d been nothing except a gentleman. I was, however, afraid of the mess of nerves low in my stomach. And I was afraid of his perfect smile, afraid for my vulnerable heart, and most of all, I was afraid to feel. But I wasn’t physically afraid of him. I knew if I said I was walking away, he’d step aside.
Slowly, but with crystal-clear intent, he brought his hand up, and the pad of his thumb glanced across the edge of my cheek. “So you wouldn’t be afraid if I kissed you?”
My entire body felt his gentle but dominant caress, and I shivered. Then my lips were parting, and a single word was spilling out before I could grasp it and bring it back. “No.”
He raised one sexy eyebrow. “No, you wouldn’t be afraid, or no, I can’t kiss you?”
Oh my God. Was I really doing this?
I’d only ever been with one man. When I signed my divorce papers, I didn’t want another one. Feelings of lust, let alone falling in love again, were never on my radar. Then I’d done something so ridiculously out of character tonight, and I’d walked into a bar by myself. All I’d wanted was to forget about the anxiety coursing through my veins for one single moment, and I’d gotten my wish. Oh dear God, did I get it. Except now I had nerves fluttering in every space the anxiety had lived, and I didn’t know which was worse.
All I knew was that I wanted him to kiss me.
I wanted him to do more than kiss me.
I wanted to know what it felt like to be surrounded by his way-too-young-for-me arms.
More, I wanted his smile, and damn it, I wanted to feel good.
“Fallon?” Soft like a breeze but rough like sandpaper, his thumb caressed my cheek again. “It’s fine to say no, darlin’.”
“Do you call all women darling?” I didn’t know where the jealous question had come from until it passed my lips.
Then it hit me.
If I were to allow him to kiss me, I didn’t want this to be the kind of kiss that never belonged to me because it belonged to so many other women. I didn’t want him to be like my ex. I wanted his words and his attention to belong to me. I knew these feelings of possessiveness for a man I’d met barely two hours ago were insane, but I didn’t care.
I wanted more than a fervent kiss in a tucked-away hotel hallway.
I deserved more than that.
He cupped the side of my face. “No, I don’t call all women darlin’, but I’m seeing a lot more than that question in your eyes, and I’m not sure what I’m dealing with right now.” Gentle but firm, his fingers caressed my neck. “You feel like telling me what’s going on?”
God, he was smooth. And kind. Sweet almost. But he was also as dominant as my ex, in a very different way, but still dominant, and that did scare me. “You’ve had a lot of experience doing this.”
His eyebrows drew together, and it only made him look sexier. “I’m not sure what you mean, sweetheart. Yes, I’ve been with other women, but, no, I’ve never been to this hotel before tonight, and I’ve certainly never kissed a woman here.”
“Why were you here?” I should’ve asked earlier, before he had his hand on me, before his touch was making me wish there weren’t inches of undefined, uncharted space between us.
Reassuring and gentle, his thumb stroked my cheek. “Nothing sinister or suggestive, I promise. It was close to work, and I felt like a drink before I turned in.” Confident, sure, as if he’d touched me a thousand times and knew every caress my body responded to, his fingers sifted through my hair. “I don’t keep beer at home.”
“Why?” Why was I grilling him when every second in his presence felt better than the last?
“I don’t usually drink.”
I liked his answer. Too much. “Me either.” My ex drank. I hated it.
His smile was understated and devastating all at once. “You’re still thinking about it.”
“About what?” I knew exactly what.
“Me kissing you.”
I didn’t deny it. I didn’t say anything.
His free hand landed on the small of my back, and he dropped his voice. “How about this?”
Oh God, his voice was even sexier like this, like a slow caress that promised every male, dominant thing about him.
“I kiss you, just once, and you let me know what you think. If you’re not feeling it, I walk out of this hotel and out of your life.”
I reached for his arm for balance, and my hand encountered nothing but solid muscle. “And if I am feeling it?” I dared to ask.
He smiled wide. “I do it again.”
Insecurity poured out of me like I was eighteen all over again. “And then you walk out of my life?”
His expression instantly hardened like the muscles of his arm under my hand. “I may be young, but I’m not crazy. Hell no,” he clipped ardently, “I don’t walk out.”
My breath caught, and my stomach flew into a flurry. I licked my suddenly dry lips. Having come this far, I pushed for more. “Then what do you do?”
The sexy frown was back, and he studied me a moment. “Is that important for you to know?”
Bracing myself for what I didn’t want to hear, I dared to answer honestly. “Yes.”
His intense gaze held mine, and without hesitation, reservation or guile, he answered me. “If it feels half as good as the anticipation pumping through my veins right now, I spend every waking minute trying to convince you to be mine alone.”
Foolishly, stupidly, recklessly wishing I’d met him years ago, I sealed my fate.
“Kiss me,” I whispered.
“KISS ME,” SHE WHISPERED.
Sweet fucking mercy.
I brought my mouth to hers, and when our lips touched, that was it.
I was done for.
No game, no finesse, I growled at the mere contact of touching her. Then I forgot about the haunted look in her eyes, and I stroked my tongue across her bottom lip, begging for entrance.
She obliged.
My cock surged, and I kissed her.
I kissed Fallon Amherst.
Un-fucking-leashed, I stroked through her sweet heat and pulled her soft body against me as I lost my fucking mind. I’d kissed enough women in my life that I’d stopped keeping score a long time ago, but this woman, this kiss, she made me forget every damn woman before her.
My hands shook, my heart fucking took off, and my dick pulsed with need so damn intense, I could’ve come on the spot. Angling her head, pressing into her hips, I kissed her how I wanted to fuck her, and damn if she didn’t respond.
Melting into me, she moaned into my mouth, and I had her.
I fucking had her.
Until she abruptly pulled away.
Her breathing fast, her eyes on my chest, she wouldn’t look at me.
Still holding her face, I gently stroked her soft hair, pushing it over her shoulder. “You can’t tell me you’re not feeling that, sweetheart.” No fucking way. That was explosive. We were explosive.
Inhaling sharply, she put her hands on my chest and pushed.
I stepped back. Reluctantly.
She crossed her arms, and for three seconds, she stood there staring at the floor, and I let her. I’d give her the moment, because I still wasn’t sure what I saw before I kissed her, but that was all I was giving her. Five seconds. Then I was gonna demand an explanation like I deserved one.
Guilt surged again, but I pushed it down and started silently counting.
I made it to three.
Lifting her head, looking like she was going to cry, she met my gaze, and her eyes were a hundred shades of fucked-up.
Wondering what the hell just happened, not able to stand there another second without touching her, I pulled her i
nto my arms. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, darlin’.”
She didn’t resist, but she didn’t reach for me either. She didn’t do a damn thing except let me hold her.
“It’s okay.” I stroked her back, her hair, but she didn’t even lean into me. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I…” She inhaled, and her shoulders tensed. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know you,” she whispered.
The guilt of what I was keeping from her compounded. “I want to know you.” More than I’d read in tabloids over the years.
“You’re wearing cowboy boots,” she absently stated.
Taken off guard, I chuckled. “That I am.” I pulled back just enough so I could see her eyes. “Is that a problem?” She looked so damn sad, I wanted to pound her ex and give her daughter a piece of my mind.
“You’re a cowboy?”
Hesitant, vulnerable, her voice quiet—if I didn’t know who she was, I’d swear she was younger than me. “I’m Texan, sweetheart.”
“You’re in Florida,” she pointed out, her voice slightly stronger.
“Okay, Floridian by way of Texas,” I amended. “I grew up in boots, and they feel like home. Is that a better answer?” I couldn’t figure out what the fuck was going on.
She stared at me a moment. Then she threw down honesty like she trusted me. “I haven’t kissed anyone since my ex-husband, and it was never… like that,” she admitted in a whisper.
Elated, jealous, I tried not to stiffen at the thought of her with that older prick or my own damn guilt over not telling her who I was. Wondering how the hell I was going to break it to her later that we’d met before, I stalled.
“Okay.” Drawing the word out, I studied every pretty inch of her face. “Is that a problem for you?” Already possessive of her, it sure as fuck wasn’t for me. I more than liked the fact she hadn’t been with anyone else since that asshole.
“No.” She looked away. “Yes.”
Shit. I tipped her chin. “You’re gonna need to explain that.” Because I wanted to kiss her again. Fuck, I wanted to pin her against the wall and bury myself so deep inside her, she’d forget she ever had an ex.
“I didn’t come here tonight looking for… this.”
“Me either, sweetheart, but I’m glad as hell I was sitting at that bar when you walked in.” Jesus, I was glad and so damn lucky, not to mention there were at least four of Estevez’s men still out there. She was a hell of a lot safer with me by her side than walking around alone.
She looked away again. “Me too.”
Thank fuck. I glanced up and down the hallway. Spotting the security camera at the far end, I turned her slightly away from it. “Now that we have that settled, you want to tell me why you looked so sad a moment ago?” I was a selfish prick for digging, but I wanted to know if it had to do with me.
“I wasn’t sad,” she protested. “Not exactly.”
“Okay.” Gently stroking her back, her arm, I waited for more, but she didn’t elaborate.
She changed course. “You’re very different,” she finally said.
“I’m not sure how to interpret that.” I may not have years on me, but I’d learned one thing about women a long time ago. If you didn’t know what the fuck their words meant when you had them in your arms, you asked.
She exhaled. “Never mind.”
“I’m holding a beautiful woman and praying like hell it won’t be the last time I get to touch her. So, no, sweetheart, I’m not gonna never mind.” I cupped her face. “How about we go back and finish our meal?”
Honest to God, she put her forehead to my chest. “I don’t want to.”
Instinct kicked in, and I wrapped my arms around her tight. Her sad eyes, the vulnerability in her—I’d never wanted to protect a woman more. “No problem. We don’t have to.” I’d stand here all damn night if she wanted me to.
“May I tell you something?”
I pulled back enough to see her, but I didn’t let go of her. “Of course.”
“I don’t do this.”
I brushed her hair off her sexy bare shoulder. “I didn’t think you did.”
“I mean…” She cleared her throat. “I mean I don’t know how to do this.”
I couldn’t help it, I fucking smiled. Wide. “You’re doing just fine.”
Rolling her eyes, she almost smiled. “Please.”
Brushing my lips against her cheek, inhaling her scent, I kissed the soft skin below her ear. “Want in on a little secret?”
She shivered. “Do I have a choice?”
I grasped her chin and held firm to let her know I was serious as fuck. “With me, you always have a choice.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I appreciate that.”
“Not something you have to thank me for, but you’re welcome.” Jesus, I didn’t want to let go of this woman.
“The secret?” she prodded.
Releasing her chin, I slid my hand to the side of her pretty face and sank my fingers in her soft hair. “I’m thinking about kissing you again.”
She smiled. It was slight and demure, but it was there. “You’re incorrigible.”
“What can I say? You bring out the best in me.” I was only half teasing. I couldn’t explain it, but I wanted to move mountains for this woman.
Her expression turned pensive. “May I tell you something else?”
“I’d be honored.”
“Wow.” She shook her head. “You have this flirting thing down to a science.”
“I didn’t realize I was flirting.” Lying my ass off, I grinned.
“Then I should be even more wary of you.” She pushed me away.
Shit. “You’re wary of me?” I gave her the space, but only a foot.
“Very much so.”
Well, fuck. Not that I could blame her. “Because?” I asked, no choice but to play it out.
Finally giving me something more real than the poised woman in the bar, she sighed, heavily. “Because everything. You’re young, confident, flirtatious. You’re unbelievably built and too handsome for your own good, but that’s not the worst of it.”
I didn’t know if I should laugh or be offended as hell. “Those are bad things?” I worked my ass off in the gym six days a week, and she made me want to flirt. The other shit I had no control over.
“Not as bad as how familiar you feel when you’re a complete stranger.”
Guilt hit. Hard. I danced around her words. “You’ve never met someone you felt like you instantly knew?”
“No.”
“Until me?” I pressed, because I was a prick.
“I didn’t say I felt like I knew you. I said familiar.” Her voice turned quiet, and her face flushed. “Familiar was maybe the wrong word.”
“Then give me a couple more.”
“Good,” she said immediately and without thought.
“Not gonna lie, sweetheart, I was hoping for a hell of a lot better than good. Because if that kiss was only good for you, I need to up my game.”
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then something changed.
Her body straightened, her shoulders squared, and she looked at me with determination. “It was better than good.”
“IT WAS BETTER THAN GOOD.” Putting good in the same sentence as his kiss was sacrilegious. Thomas kissed like it was his sole occupation, and for the first time in my life, I worried that I wouldn’t be sexually good enough for a man.
I was worrying about it so bad, it was holding me back from going after the one thing I wanted more than anything right now.
Him.
I didn’t have a flirtatious bone in my body. My mother had made sure of that. She’d made me terrified of men and had told me my whole youth that all men would ever want from me was to sully my body with their sins, then toss me aside for the next model who was younger and prettier. She’d made me swear since the age of eleven that I would not sleep with a man until I was married.
The first time we met my ex-husband at a photo shoot, my mother even told him he wouldn’t get sex from me unless he married me. I was horrifically embarrassed, but Leo seemed to take it as a challenge. He inserted himself into my life, and less than a year later, I was his wife and my mother was no longer my manager.
I’d gone from the cradle to the marriage bed, and Leo had never cared whether I could flirt or perform oral sex or turn him on. Neither had he done those things for me. Every night he was home, he rolled me to my back, spread my legs and grunted through a quick orgasm before pulling out and falling asleep. He never even kissed me.
But Thomas, the man almost young enough to be my son, had kissed me.
God, had he kissed me.
And when I’d fallen against him, I’d felt every inch of his hard length that made me understand for the first time in my life just how lacking my ex-husband had truly been.
Thomas’s huge hand caressed the side of my face again like he couldn’t get enough of me. “I’m happy I made you feel good, but your expression right now is worrying me, darlin’.”
Thirty-six years old and I was being shown how a true gentleman should treat a woman by a twenty-three-year-old.
He was practically Summer’s age. Oh God, Summer.
“I have a daughter,” I blurted.
“Okay,” he said again in the same way he’d used the word before. Drawing it out like an acknowledgment, but he also made it sound like he wasn’t judging, just merely accepting what I said as he waited for more information.
I liked that he wasn’t prying or demanding.
Which I probably should’ve taken as a sign that he was only being conciliatory because he wanted to get me in bed, but I swear it didn’t feel that way. If anything, he’d backed off since kissing me.
Which I wasn’t sure I liked.
“She’s almost your age,” I admitted.
“If you’re trying to scare me off, woman, it’s not working.”
He should be scared off. I was baggage with a capital B, and I wasn’t casual, so no matter how much I wanted to fall into his arms and let him take the lead, I didn’t think I had it in me to have a one-night stand.
I knew he’d insinuated he wasn’t exactly casual either, but he was too flirtatious to not be a player.