Meg had rolled her eyes, informed him that her tomboy sister didn’t own any of those and then punched him in the gut. He’d doubled over, wheezing, but she’d made her point—she made decisions about her own life. No one else.
However, when it came to sex, both parties had to agree, and since she suspected that Theo had given John that same “don’t touch my sister” chat, she was pretty sure that he no longer viewed her as a potential partner for sexual escapades.
It was just her luck that she’d run into him when she was keyed up from dancing with Aaron and had sex on the brain. It made it harder to ignore that knee-jerk punch of attraction.
Accepting the icy bottle of beer from the bartender, she took a long swallow, letting the crisp liquid cool her off. Thus fortified, she turned to face him, let herself take him in.
She was attracted to him, but she wasn’t so naive as to think that she was the only one. She’d have had to be blind not to appreciate the sheer perfection of his face. She’d grown up next door to Theo, who, while she’d sure never seen him that way, turned plenty of heads with that whole Latin lover thing he had going on. She’d dated men who were nice to look at, but John was just ridiculously good-looking. His skin was a smooth medium brown, and next to it his pale eyes—which were, of course, fringed with lashes long enough to make a woman weep—were impossible not to focus on. He kept his ebony hair buzzed down close to his head, letting the lean planes of his face take center stage, and his body was a continuation on the theme—the man obviously logged some serious gym time, because, well, damn.
It didn’t surprise her that half the women in Boston had reportedly dropped their panties the second he’d arrived in town.
Dammit. He caught her looking, and that smug little half smile deepened, making her stomach do a little flip.
Down, girl. This wasn’t going to happen. He’d flirted with her when they’d first met, but Theo had put any attraction John felt on ice. And she could deal. Hell, they’d had dinner together a week ago, and she’d kept her horniness in check just fine. Of course, there had been six other people at that dinner, and she hadn’t been wearing next to nothing with sex on the brain.
“Hey!” Meg protested as John stole the beer right out of her hand, though nerves danced in her skin where his hand brushed hers. “Give that back!”
“You asked if I saw something I liked,” he replied innocently before taking a long sip of her drink. She couldn’t tear her stare away from the muscles working in his throat as he swallowed.
Handing the beer back to her, he kept his fingers on the bottle even after she’d taken it. Her pulse skittered even as she rolled her eyes. It was because she was already slightly aroused from dancing with Aaron. It was absolutely not because her admiration of John had grown into a full-fledged crush.
“Yes, because obviously I was referring to the beer.” Even though she wanted to prolong the contact, she tugged at the beer until he released it, though when she pressed her lips to it, she could have sworn that she could taste him on the glass.
He sees you as a sister now, Meg. Deal!
If only he didn’t make her mouth water when he fixed her with that stare.
“I wasn’t sure you were going to notice me. You were...occupied.” John waved an arm toward where she’d been dancing with Aaron. Though his tone was teasing, she thought she saw a flash of...well, of something in his eyes. Surely that wasn’t jealousy. No, definitely not.
He could have literally any woman in this bar—sexy, sweet, thick, thin. And he was not the kind of man to get jealous over her dancing with another man, no matter the chemistry between them. And she was absolutely not disappointed by that. Nope. Not her.
“Wasn’t feeling it,” she replied, which was only half a lie—she’d been feeling it, at least a little bit, until she’d seen John.
Maybe she should wade back into the crowd and find Aaron, take him up on his offer. The longer she stood there, looking at what she couldn’t have, the friskier she felt.
“Good.” Her gaze snapped to him, shocked. “You can do better.”
“Excuse me?” She blinked, not sure what to make of his words. “Why, because he wasn’t wearing a suit? Maybe what I want is a guy who works with his body. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Not what I meant, kitten.” He seemed more amused by her attitude than anything, which only irritated her further.
“What did you mean, then?” Chugging the rest of her drink, she signaled the bartender for another. “And what the hell kind of nickname is kitten?”
Taking the empty bottle from her, he set it out of the way and stepped into her personal space so quickly that she barely had time to blink. With only a thin ribbon of space between them, she could feel the heat emanating off his body, could smell his cologne, something that probably cost more than she made in a month, but that made her want to take a bite out of him.
What is happening?
Also, she’d never been this close to him, and she was pretty proud of herself for not wrapping a leg around his waist and climbing him like a monkey.
“Well?” she prompted, the silence too full of the unspoken need for comfort. “What did you mean?”
The bartender set her fresh beer on the surface beside them. John picked it up before she could and pressed the cool glass to her decidedly warm lips. Her thoughts spun, a kaleidoscope of confusion and need.
Why does he have to be so damn hot?
“I meant that you deserve someone who wants to be with you for you, not just because you’re a warm, willing body.” He tilted the bottle, and she swallowed the cool liquid that spilled into her mouth. When she licked her lips, his stare followed the movement, and she felt her pulse increase.
Huh. Maybe he hadn’t fully heeded Theo’s warning. Interesting. Now what to do with it?
“What if all I want is a warm, willing body?” she challenged, reaching up to claim her drink. A whisper of a smile ghosted around his lips. “Not all women want a man to put a ring on it, you know.”
“I wouldn’t presume that you would,” he agreed. When he lifted his hand and traced a single finger over the plane of her cheekbone, Meg’s head spun as though she’d had way more than two shots.
Clearly, she’d overestimated her ability to keep her attraction to him under control, but then, she’d never had to withstand such a full-frontal attack.
“You enjoy your fair share of warm, willing bodies. I think that’s fair to say.” She watched as his eyes darkened—had she touched a nerve?
“More than my fair share, probably,” he agreed, gaze intent on her face. He was playing a game here, and he hadn’t shared the rule book, which made her cranky. “But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. And you deserve more.”
What the hell? He’d had her thinking, for a moment, that maybe he was still into her, but all he’d wanted to tell her was that what was okay for him wasn’t okay for her?
Mamesie had raised her and her sisters to be strong, independent women who knew what they wanted and went after it. And she was pretty sure that each and every one of them, in this situation, would call bullshit.
“So, you’re saying there’s a double standard here, then.” She stepped back, increasing the space between them until she could breathe again. “You can enjoy as many casual encounters as you want, but I’m supposed to be a good little kitten and wait for someone to come along and cherish me. Well, guess what? Screw that.”
She got enough of this big-brotherly crap from Theo—she didn’t need it from someone she desired. Spinning on her heel, she started to stalk off—she’d find Theo and Jo and inform Theo yet again of just what she thought of him interfering in her love life before insisting that he drive her home as punishment for his crimes.
Before she could take more than two steps, John grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her back toward him.
She bared her teeth, daring him to manhandle her, but he did just that, gathering both of her wrists in his large hands and holding them up in front of her.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching her struggle, but she seethed, spitting fire from her eyes.
“Would you let me finish?” he replied mildly, stroking the inside of her wrist with his thumb, distracting her.
How the hell was she supposed to maintain any kind of defense?
“I have nothing against casual encounters, as you so kindly pointed out. To be crude, sometimes just getting off is enough, yes?” He arched an eyebrow but continued before she could reply, “But when I say that you deserve someone who wants to be with you for you, I mean exactly that. It’s like food.”
“I’m not following.” No, she sure wasn’t, but she was suddenly very aware of his mouth, which suddenly seemed very, very close to her own.
“This might make your chef’s self shudder, but we can survive on fast food, right? On food that comes in a box, or a can, that’s quick and easy. It sustains us technically.” He dipped his head, and when his lips brushed the lobe of her ear, Meg felt her knees tremble. Had she thought she was in control here? Stupid, stupid her. She needed to get a grip, though, because he wasn’t trying to turn her on—that was all on her. “But don’t we all deserve a three-course dinner cooked by someone with your skill? Or are you, of all people, going to tell me that those yield the same experience?”
“I like fast food,” she managed, trying not to shudder when his lips moved to the shell of her upper ear. She knew he was only whispering in her ear because it was so loud, but she couldn’t stop the effect it had on her.
He frowned, small lines crinkling around the corners of his eyes. He looked her up and down, gaze lingering on the skin revealed by the low-cut neck of her dress. “I don’t like the idea of you going home with strangers.”
“You do it all the time,” she retorted. He pressed his lips together in a tight line.
“You’re a smart woman. I won’t tell you why that’s different.” He raised a hand as she opened her mouth to yell. “I’m not saying that it’s right, or that it’s just how it is. But you know damn well that there’s a big difference between a man going home with a strange woman for the night, and a woman going home with a man. Bad things shouldn’t happen, but they do, and I don’t want them to happen to you.”
She ground her teeth together in frustration, and a good chunk of the emotion was because he wasn’t wrong.
“Well, what’s a horny single woman to do, then?” She smirked when he choked. “No matter where I meet a man, I can’t be sure that I’m safe until I get to know him. And once I know him, it’s not casual anymore, unless both parties agree.”
“I—” He started to speak, then stopped himself, shaking his head. “Yeah. You know what? That sucks. That really sucks for women.”
Meg gazed at him as he furrowed his brow, clearly working this over, and as she did, an idea formed. It was a bad idea. A very bad one, probably, but after the alcohol she’d consumed and the sensation of his lips on her lobe still making her shiver, it seemed completely logical.
“What’s that look for?” he asked warily. “I know that look. I’ve seen it on Jo. It usually means no good for me.”
“On the contrary, I think this would be very good for you. And for me.” She sank her teeth into her lower lip, and his eyes tracked the movement. Ah. Unless she was very much mistaken, John wasn’t feeling too brotherly at the moment.
“Care to clarify?” When his gaze met hers, she noted that his pupils had swollen, the black edging out the glacial color of his irises until only a thin rim of ice remained.
“You’re a smart man. I bet you can connect the dots.” She sucked in a deep breath—here went nothing. “You like casual sex. I’m looking for casual sex, and I’m not worried that I’m going to get into any kind of trouble with you. Amy would go after you with her tattoo machine, never mind Beth and all those scary-looking tools in her garage.”
“Wait. What?” He gaped at her like something out of a comic book. “What did you just say?”
“I said that Amy would go after you with her tattoo machine.” She knew what he meant, but nerves had flooded her veins, and she needed a moment to recover, to breathe. What had she just suggested? “And Jo... Well, she’d get creative. She’d probably put you in one of her blog posts and claim that you have a small penis.”
“I do not have a small penis,” he informed her. “Also, did you seriously just hit me up for casual sex?”
“What if I did?” Emboldened by the alcohol, though it hadn’t quite drowned out the flutter of nerves in her belly, she inched closer to him. He didn’t pull away. “There was a spark between us that first time we met. If you deny it, you’re lying.”
Testing, she leaned in, just a little. Those pale eyes darkened, the lids lowering to half-mast. Meg felt an answering heaviness in her belly.
“There’s a hole in your theory,” he replied, and she was gratified to hear the slight rasp in his voice. “We know each other. Therefore, it’s not casual.”
“It’s whatever we make it.” Holding her breath, she reached out, laid her palm on his chest. Spread her fingers out slowly, savoring the sensation of the solid muscle beneath her touch. “Weren’t you just saying that we all deserve a gourmet meal once in a while? We know each other. We like each other well enough. Neither of us is looking for anything more than casual. So why should we deny ourselves a gourmet meal?”
A low growl emanated from his throat, and she felt it right between her legs. Her lips parted, and she ran her tongue over them to dampen them as she watched emotions play out over his face.
He liked the idea, that was easy enough to see, but he might still tell her she was crazy and that it wasn’t going to happen. With most men, she could shrug off that kind of rejection—one of the benefits of keeping it casual.
With this man, right here, right now? If he said no, she’d be fine...but she couldn’t deny that it would sting.
“Meg.” Dipping his head, he pressed his forehead to hers. His skin was cool, a sharp contrast to her heat. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”
She felt the disappointment as she would a plunge into an icy pool, and she hated that it affected her so much. With a frozen smile, she pulled back, away from his touch, and lifted her chin.
“You’re probably right.” Shit, shit, shit. She was not going to cry. She wasn’t that girl. And why did she even care? “Let’s just pretend I never brought it up, okay?”
Turning, she walked away quickly, heading blindly for... She wasn’t sure. Anywhere that wasn’t here. The bathroom, maybe—she’d get herself composed, then request an Uber.
She made it three feet, and there he was again, stepping into her path.
“Can you please just let me go be embarrassed in peace?” she ground out, trying to step around him. He stepped with her, and she growled with frustration. Then he dipped his head, pressing those full lips of his to her ear again, and she knew she wasn’t going anywhere.
“I said I didn’t think this was a good idea. I never said I wasn’t interested.”
CHAPTER THREE
DON’T DO IT, MAN.
Oh, but I really want to.
The good angel perched on John’s shoulder didn’t have a chance. John normally had a will of iron, but seeing that other man’s hands on Meg’s body had sent all common sense flying out the door.
“Cat got your tongue?” Meg looked up at him, challenge written all over her face. “Or do epic one-liners like that always render you mute?”
Arching an eyebrow, he opened his mouth to reply, but at the same moment, the deejay decided to play a track with enough bass to make the floor vibrate beneath their feet. Meg winced at the noise. When he pointed toward the front door of the bar, she nodded eagerly and didn�
��t protest when he placed a hand at the small of her back to guide her through the crowd.
He could feel the heat of her skin, emanating through the thin—very thin—cotton of her dress. A fabric like that would rip like tissue, revealing all of that soft peach skin, ready for his hands and his mouth.
The way she shivered beneath his fingers told him she might not be averse to that idea.
The air outside the bar was cool after the crush of bodies inside, a gulp of ice water on a parched throat. Watching Meg walk ahead of him, though, threw him right back into the fever.
“Did you know that your dress is completely see-through?” His voice was rough, the words catching in his throat as he guided her through the parking lot to where his car sat. He’d had too many drinks to drive, but it was the only quiet place he could think of to bring her.
“Is it really?” She smirked over her shoulder at him, the expression belying her words. “I had no idea.”
“Meg,” he protested, slowing as they reached his vehicle. With a gentle touch, he pressed her back against the passenger’s-side door, her back to the metal, him at her front. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“I didn’t dress like this for you,” she commented mildly, “but if I knew how much you liked red satin thongs, I might have worn one around you sooner.”
He exhaled harshly. Though he wanted to fill his hands with those lush tits of hers that were on full display, he forced himself to lay his palms flat on the car door on either side of her. Lowering his forehead to hers, he laughed roughly.
This was about to get really, really complicated, and yet he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be able to resist, not anymore. The last shreds of his willpower had disappeared with the word thong.
“John,” Meg whispered, frowning slightly, “I think it’s pretty clear that we both want this. So why are you holding back?”
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