“Ya think?” He threw my words back at me.
So I threw his back at him. “Don’t get short with me. I’m not the one who decided to take a swan dive into my bathtub.” I headed into the kitchen.
“Cute.”
“I thought so.” I laughed, watching him drop down on the sofa and rub his palms over his cheeks then stroke his goatee.
“Make mine something strong. It’s been a hell of an evening.”
“That’s putting it mildly, but all I have are Bahama Mamas.” I fixed two drinks, sticking little umbrellas in each, thinking they’d go perfectly with his outfit. He arched a brow, and I bit back a grin as I carried the drinks, then halted, watching the muscles play in his biceps as he moved his arms.
Eyeing the chair and the couch, I tried to decide where to sit. I couldn’t sit across from him and keep my eyes from wandering lower. That was just asking too much now that I knew what he looked like, so that left only one solution. I plopped down on the couch beside him and handed him a tall glass and then snatched the fleece throw off the back and draped it over us both. Problem solved. Out of sight, out of mind.
Sort of.
His thigh bumped mine. He glanced at the blanket and then back up to me. Staring at him, I swallowed. Bad, bad idea. Cozying up together on a couch under a blanket screamed intimacy. I knew he was all wrong for me, and I wasn’t ready to be in another relationship, but I felt myself slipping under his spell. No matter how hard I fought it.
He downed his drink in four gulps and I matched him in five, then he slammed his empty glass on the table and stared at me, waiting. Desire radiated between us until I couldn’t take it any longer.
To heck with it. We all had issues.
We reached for each other simultaneously and embraced. It felt like heaven.
Dylan’s mouth swooped down to cover mine as he leaned back and pulled me on his lap. I straddled him, jolting over the contact.
Oh, my God. He was huge.
Desire ripped through me, and I gasped. I wanted him like I’d never wanted anyone. A scary thought that he obliterated by running his hands over my face. He swept my hair back behind my ears and then slid his palms down to cup my jaw. His laser beams locked onto mine, and he plunged his tongue deep.
No one had ever kissed me with their eyes open. It was somehow more intimate than anything else he’d done.
The yummy flavors of coconut rum, grenadine, orange juice and pineapple juice, mixed with a spice that was purely Dylan, burst over my taste buds. My heart slammed against my ribs as I battled his tongue with my own, wanting more. My hips started to move of their own accord, and my hands smoothed over his hair then tugged his ponytail free. Thrusting my fingers into the thick, dark-chocolate strands, I shivered.
He made a growling noise in his throat and dropped his hands to my butt. I stiffened, but then he groaned and squeezed me. He pulled me more intimately into his erection, and my breath hitched. He drove me wild. God, I couldn’t think clearly.
In one smooth move, he flipped me onto my back and I opened my eyes to lock with his. My God. I’d never seen so much passion. What he did to me scared the heck out of me, because I couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t just like the rest of the guys from my past. Only into the sex. Not into me. He dropped his head lower and kissed my nipple through my T-shirt until my eyes crossed. It was too much, too fast. I couldn’t breathe, for Pete’s sake.
When he started to slide my T-shirt up, I hooked my leg over his hip and rolled him off the couch.
“What the hell did you do that for?” He stared up at me from flat on his back as though I’d lost my mind.
“Sorry. Clumsy me. But since I’m up,” I sprang to my feet, “I, um, may as well check the clothes. We wouldn’t want your pants to shrink, would we?” I glanced at his Mr. Winkie, now at full attention once again. Double wow. I struggled to focus. “They’ll never fit.” I didn’t wait for an answer but bounced out of my apartment as fast as my rubber-band legs would carry me.
Ten minutes later, I returned slightly more composed. Until I locked eyes on Hot Britches again. He leaned against the wall, bare-chested with his hair hanging loose, smoothing his goatee and staring at me with hooded eyes. All he needed was an eye patch, and he’d be the pirate hero on the cover of a romance novel. An eye patch and something other than purple Spandex biker shorts, that is. And, okay, so the thin, chain-like tattoos circling his bulging biceps were pure contemporary, but hey, he could be a modern day pirate. And at this moment, I’d let him pillage just about anything.
I stared at his chest, and my hands itched to touch those same pecs that had warmed my fingers earlier. Stay strong, Cal. I’d been down this road before, only to wind up in the biggest mess of my life. Swallowing hard, I tried to slow my breathing. No pillage, bad pillage, pillage wrong.