Neanderthal Seeks Human(48)

He met my gaze; his was serious, searching. He turned his palm so that we were holding hands and agreed very quietly, “It does.”

My eyes moved over him in open surveillance; I felt warm and lose lipped, likely also caused by the alcohol, and therefore didn’t think twice before I asked my rapid fire questions, “What was he like? Was he like you? Was he older or younger?”

“He was older. He wasn’t-” his attention moved to our joined hands and he frowned, as though considering something; I noticed his unhappy expression and tried to withdraw but he increased his grip- not painfully, just firmly- and glared at me. As though to ensure I didn’t attempt to escape again, he tugged on my hand. Wordlessly I slipped off my seat and took the one next to him. When I was settled on the stool he seemed to relax and continued, “We weren’t alike. He was a police officer in Boston.” He faced me so that one of his legs was between mine, his foot rested on the bottom rung of my stool.

I tried to focus on his words but the world seemed fuzzy; “His being a police officer meant that the two of you weren’t alike?” I took a drink from the second lemon drop, licking the residual sugar from my lips.

His eyes moved to my mouth, stayed there, seemed to lose focus, “Yes and no. He was honorable. I think he wanted to be a police officer because he always wanted to do the right thing.”

I lifted an eyebrow at him, tilted my head in much the same way I’d witnessed him do a number of times before; “I still don’t understand; you’ll need to be more precise.” I mostly succeed at not slurring when I asked, “Are you saying you’re not like him because you didn’t become a police officer?”

His eyes didn’t move from my lips as he responded, “No. I’m not like him because usually I don’t want to do the right thing.”

Either his proximity or my glass and a half of lemon drops were responsible for the heated deliberateness of my beating heart; I guessed it was a little of both. The air seemed to change, become slower, thicker. I felt like something important had just happened but I was too foggy to grasp it. I did know the way he was looking at me made my lower belly feel delightfully achy and full.

However, before I could consider the issue further, he kissed me.





CHAPTER 11




He captured my mouth, pressing his lips to mine softly then tilting his head and repeating as though he wanted to taste me from every angle. We were joined only by our lips and where our hands still grasped each other on the table; this lasted just briefly before Quinn released my hand in favor of digging his fingers into the small of my back, pulling me from my seat and fully against him. I was between his legs, half standing half leaning on his chest.

Hello dizzy.

Without thinking, I inclined forward; my hands rose and gripped his shirt, partly for balance and partly because the opportunity presented itself. His lips were warm and yielding. He kissed me gently at first, slowly, savoring each touch; but his grip on me was forceful, crushing me to him as though I might collapse or try to push him away.

My brain and my body were disconnected and I didn’t immediately respond to the current situation with appropriate enthusiasm which, in all honesty, might have been a stroke of luck. Had I been prepared for the kiss, known it was coming, I likely would have become flustered, overeager, and ended up with half his face in my mouth.

However, as it was, a small, involuntary moan escaped me. This turned out to be a very good thing because, almost immediately, I felt his tongue sweep gently against my mouth. I parted my lips and he responded with a low growl, his arms sliding completely around me, as he claimed my mouth. His hand moved up my back and fisted in my hair; he pulled my bun out of its twist, sending rascally curls in every direction. He looped a length of it around his hand and held me in place as he explored my mouth. The kiss turned hungry and my hands, trapped between us, could only continue to grip the front of his shirt.

My reactions were entirely medulla oblongata based. Each time my higher brain function attempted to take over or think or raise its hand my body kicked the shit out of it. I was so engrossed in the sensations of Quinn- hands, arms, mouth, chest- that I didn’t hear the door open behind me and I didn’t understand why Quinn stiffened suddenly then pulled his mouth from mine. My eyes were still closed, my chin still titled upward, my lips still parted, when he unlooped his hand from my hair and I heard him speak.

“What is it?” he sounded angry.

My eyes flew open, not comprehending his meaning, believing- initially- that he’d meant the words for me. It wasn’t until I realized he wasn’t looking at me but, rather, over my shoulder that my mind was allowed to engage. This time I recognized the voice behind me: