Protect Me(27)

Taking her hand within mine, I lead her out the front door. I continue to hold her hand like it’s a lifeline as we hit the last step and walk to my awaiting car. There’s a very light, warm breeze tonight which causes her long hair to feather out around her face. I grip her hand tightly as we descend the last step and walk to my awaiting car. Her hand feels so damn right tucked securely within mine. Complete.

I can’t help but steal one more touch as I open the car door for her. I have a need for her that I can’t explain. I turn her so that she’s facing me, my warm palm caressing her back. She smells like heaven, all sugary with a hint of wildflowers. The long planes of her neck beg for my touch. I slide my free hand up her neck, committing the slope and the silkiness to memory. God, I love touching this woman.

“Your neck drives me wild,” I say huskily.

“I’ve never had someone tell me they like my neck before,” she says with a hint of a smile.

“It does seem a little strange, right? I have no clue what is so damn sexy about your neck, but I just want to touch it,” I tell her as I lay a hand along the column of her neck. “Caress it,” I say as I slide my calloused hand up and down from collarbone to earlobe. “Lick it,” I say mere seconds before I trace the same path with my tongue that my hand just traveled.

The taste of her skin is like lightning. A tornado touches down within my stomach. The storm rages in my veins. Lia shudders uncontrollably in my hands, and I know in this moment, one touch will never be enough. I need more. I need Lia like I need my next breath. Because without her, I might die. The revelation is both startling and exhilarating.

“We should probably go get dinner,” I say as my lips continue to kiss and suckle along her neck.

“What?” she says hazily.

“Dinner. We should go eat.”

“Oh, yeah. Dinner. We should do that.”

I move my head to look deep into her lust filled eyes. Damn, does this woman make me feel things I shouldn’t want to feel. Desire for her courses through my tightly wound body as I help Lia down into the seat. I glance down at her perfect little body one more time while she sits in my car, before shutting the door. Her eyes are flames of desire, and I’m sure they’re a reflection of my own.

I slowly walk around to the driver’s side of the car, counting backwards from twenty as I try to get my raging hard-on under control. I slide down in the seat and steal another glance at my passenger. She gives me a small, shy smile. Fuck counting. I want to throw her over my shoulder, carry her back up the stairs, and ravish her beautiful body from head to toe. All. Night. Long.

I shake my head and turn the ignition. Backing out of the parking lot, I chance one last glance at Lia. She’s looking out the passenger window, hair gently blowing in the breeze. She looks peaceful. It’s the only look I ever want to see on her face again. It’s my new goal in life. To make Lia happy.

El Toro isn’t very busy for a Monday night. There are two other couples enjoying dinner while the speakers pump upbeat Spanish music through them and the television over the bar airs a soccer game. The walls are all painted bold shades of red, green, and blue. The Mexican flag is painted on the back wall, and hot pepper lights are strung around the perimeter. It’s festive and fun, and they make a damn good margarita. I’m usually a beer man, myself, but when you’re here, you can’t help but get a margarita.

“Can I get you a drink?” our waiter asks as he sets the menus in front of us.

“Their margaritas are to die for,” I tell her.

“Oh, I’ll have the peach mango margarita, please,” Lia says with a smile.

“Lime on the rocks for me,” I tell the waiter who hurries off to get our drinks.

Lia folds up the menu and glances around the room. “This place is great,” she says with a smile.

“Wait until you try the food,” I reply.

“Do you know what you would like to order?” the waiter asks after he returns with our margaritas.

“Chicken Chimichanga with extra guacamole, please.”

“I’ll have the steak and chicken burrito and a side of rice,” I tell him.

“Very good. It’ll be out soon,” he says as he takes our menus and disappears into the kitchen.

“So, tell me about college. What did you study?” I ask as I reach across the table and link her fingers within mine.

“Oh, I actually went for interior design,” she says as she shifts in her seat. I notice that anytime I ask about her past, she clams up. It bothers me.

“So, you went for interior design and worked in a bakery. Which did you like better?”