LOVE ‘EM(7)

I smack his hand. “What are you doing?”

He stops and backs up a couple of steps. His hands go up in surrender. “I—I’m sorry. No excuse. I just—you don’t seem like the tattoo kind of girl.”

“I’m not sure how you can presume to know what type of anything I am. We only met yesterday. And for less than a half-hour at that.” Tossing him a glare, I step into the doorway leading to the kitchen. I’m a retreating coward.

Again, he follows, tucking his hands behind his back. “Oh, I think I got a pretty good picture of who you are.”

“Well, you’re probably mistaken. That concept is most likely foreign to you, but I’m sure it will happen eventually. Almost everyone is wrong at some point.”

“And you’re going to be the one who puts me in my place, eh?” His presence fills the small kitchen as he stalks me.

Maybe I should do the old pinch test, see if I’m having some bizarre dream. Jackson Tremaine, in my kitchen? I sneak in a pinch to my thigh.

No, must be awake. Holy freaking shit.

When the edge of the counter bites into my lower back, I hold up my hand. He keeps coming until his pec presses against my palm. The firm muscle twitches, and his heart beats strong beneath my fingers.

A throb starts in my pussy, something I haven’t felt for far too long. Forever, it seems.

Why, oh why does it have to be him?

Because he’s crazy gorgeous. Because he’s an apparition that can’t possibly be real, pinch test or not.

Jackson’s hands find my hips. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

With a raised eyebrow, I ask, “Conscience getting to you?”

The corner of his mouth goes up, showing off one dimple. How did I not notice he has dimples?

“Nope. I couldn’t stop thinking about how cute you were when you tripped. The look on your face was priceless. And there was the way you felt in my arms.”

Cute?

In his arms? Oh. “Well, if your stage people would have done something about those cables—”

“I need to give whoever fucked up a raise.” He leans in, and his breath tickles my earlobe. “You smell delicious. I’m dying for a taste. Have been since last night.”

I shove the desire clamoring for recognition into a holding cell. Now is not the time. This is not the man. I don’t even like him, for Heaven’s sake.

Jackson closes in. His lips brush where the pulse hammers in my neck.

Boundary issues. The man has boundary issues.

But a wave of hunger crashes through me like a river through a tight gorge, creating a current too strong to fight. A sample. That’s all. What can it hurt?

Do I actually need to like him to enjoy a moment out of time? I should have more fun. Life is short. Gee-Gee said so.

He lets out a low growl, and his tongue slips along the edge of my collarbone. “Damn, woman, you taste as good as I imagined.”

Unbidden, my fingers crawl up to fasten behind his neck.

Big hands splay my ribs as he yanks me against him. His erection pushes into my belly. Something inside me answers that silent request, and warmth winds its way to that still pulsing beat at the apex of my thighs.

I let out a sigh. My fingertips push into the hair curling over his nape—so soft.

He finds my jaw and pulls me to him, his fingers pushing through the hair at my temple. His mouth dances along mine, teasing and nipping. When the tip of his tongue slides along the seam between my lips, a small gasp opens them to him.

His hard body pushes against me from chest to hip. His knee nudges between my thighs, until his leg pushes against the most sensitive part of me. That same part wets in anticipation.

A hand glides from my ribs over my breast, rubbing and massaging.

I moan.

He deepens the kiss. I raise my leg. My pussy begs for more attention than his thigh is providing.

He moves from my mouth, raining kisses down my jaw and over my neck.

I find the zipper on his jeans, easing it down. His cock begs to be released. He grunts.

My eyes fly open.

His little boy grin bowls me over.

Oh, Lord, he’s gorgeous.

His gaze holds mine. “I think I might’ve read the wrong parts of your book.”

My book?

I yank my hand off his crotch and flatten both palms on his chest, shoving as hard as I can. “Crap.”

“What’re you doing?” His surprised expression might be comical in any other circumstance, but not now.

My nostrils flare as indignation flows through me—into every artery, every vein, every capillary. “You. What are you thinking?”

His head draws back a notch. “If you want to know the truth, I was thinking I’d like to find out what happens when you get my dick out of my pants. Why’d you stop? We were just getting to the good part.”