She flashed me her smile, and her dark blue eyes seemed to twinkle. “I only said yes because of the popcorn,” she said, but I knew she was teasing; I knew it especially because she leaned in closer to me, brushed her lips across my cheek, and breathed softly, “Thank you for the popcorn.”
“Feel free to say yes again because of the popcorn then,” I whispered, feeling like I was buzzed on her.
“Yes,” she said as the opening credits began.
Chapter Twelve
William
Somewhere around the big crawl-under-a-truck-to-escape chase scene, I reached for her hand. She didn’t resist. She let me slide my fingers through hers like I’d done at the nail salon. Slowly, then more quickly, our fingers were laced together and she squeezed my hand. My mind was a haze, swirling with nearness to her, even from this kind of contact, which was the simplest, most basic kind. Hand in hand, fingers entwined. But then, there’s something to holding a girl’s hand, to the way she responds, to the suggestion of how bodies might come together. Because holding hands can be the prelude to so much more.
While I might have asked her to the movies to ferret out more details about her job, any ulterior motives had been banished well before the curtain fell. They were so far in the rear view mirror now, as we touched, that I could no longer see them. She brushed her shoulder against mine, and when she shifted closer, the sexy honey scent of her hair drifted into my senses. All I had to do would be to inch closer and press my lips against the sweet skin of her absolutely kissable neck.
Truth be told, that was all I wanted to do.
Screw the movie, screw the job, screw everything else but continuing what we’d started. I bent my head closer to her, speaking softly near her ear. “Jess, were you going to kiss me again in the nail salon?”
“Maybe,” she whispered. “Are you going to kiss me now?”
“If I do, you’ll miss the scene when he rides across the desert on a white horse.”
“That’s my favorite scene.”
“Then you don’t want to miss it.”
“No. I don’t want to miss it. So make it worth my while,” she said, her tone an invitation.
She didn’t look away. Her blue eyes were wilder than usual as I brushed her hair off her neck, savoring every second of her response to the anticipation, from the way her breath visibly caught, to the delicious moment when her lips parted the tiniest bit, her body making it clear what she wanted.
The same thing I did. To be closer.
I started slowly, dusting my lips against hers, the barest whisper of a kiss. It was the first sip of champagne, a promise of what’s to come, of sweet, tantalizing touches that make you intoxicated soon on the whole damn bubbly glass.
She made the sexiest little sound, a tiny murmur as I pressed my lips to hers once more.
I moved in for another kiss, sweeping my tongue against the curve of her lower lip, kissing away her gasp. Then we went deeper, tongues meeting, swirling, tasting. The heat inside me rose as the kiss evolved, turning into a long, slow, deep wet kiss. My favorite kind. I could kiss her all day, all night, I could kiss her all over, and I desperately wanted to. Because the way she responded, tugging me close and spearing my hair with her fingers as she practically grabbed my skull, sent my blood racing.
All her hard edges melted when we kissed. The barbs, the snark, the teasing disappeared. We were not the same people who doubted each other; all our cards were on the table as we touched.
After several hungry minutes having each other’s mouths for an early dinner, she dropped a hand to my arm. She ran her palm along my bicep, then my forearm, as if she were tracing me. Her touch sent a bolt of pure lust through my body, and I wished we were anywhere but here. The theater might be mostly empty, but it wasn’t private, and I wanted to do so many private things to her. Touch her breasts. Slide a hand under her shirt. Unbutton her jeans. Feel her.
I settled for traveling to her neck, layering soft kisses on a path up to her ear. I nibbled on her earlobe and whispered, “Worth your while?”
“So worth it,” she said, her voice some kind of combination of purr and moan.
I’d take that combo. Hell, I’d take it again. I returned to her lips that were like a magnet for mine. Jess intrigued me, fascinated me, and turned me on. She was a model of restraint most of the time, but the second we connected physically, all bets were off. Because then, we were only chemistry, atoms and electrons smashing into each other, seeking each other out. Her mouth was sweet, sinful and demanding at the same time because she kissed me back so passionately and with so much untamed heat that my mind–or maybe it was my body–leapfrogged ten steps ahead to the movie ending, taking her back to my place, and exploring the rest of her trim, slim, lush figure.
But when the credits rolled, she untangled herself from me, smoothed her hair, ran her hands down her shirt, and thanked me for the movie.
“I have to go study.”
Minutes later, she was driving off on her scooter into the Los Angeles night.
She was fucking masterful at walking away, and leaving me far too turned on.
Chapter Thirteen
Jess
Ice in the freezer.
Water in the faucet.
A big fat plastic bowl somewhere in the cabinet under the stove.
With my teeth gritted and my jaw clenched, I mixed the three ingredients, then dunked my head in the ice water.
Surprise, surprise. It was freezing, and I nearly yelped under water.
But stoicism ruled me now that I was home. I needed to clear my head, and I needed to clear it fast.