attractive …”
She smiled at that, and even though it was a rueful smile, it transformed her. “Yeah, actually, you don’t. I mean, you think you find me … But …” She shook her head.
Shane leaned forward. “I’m pretty sure you don’t know what I’m thinking.” He tried to let her see it in his eyes, though—the fact that he was thinking about how it would feel for both of them with his tongue in her mouth, with her hands in his hair, her legs locked around him as he pushed himself home.
He reached out to touch her—nothing too aggressive or invasive—just the back of one finger against the narrow gracefulness of her wrist.
But just like that, the vaguely fuzzy picture in his head slammed into sharp focus, and she was moving against him, naked in his arms, and, Christ, he was seconds from release as he gazed into her incredible eyes.…
Shane sat back so fast that he knocked over his bottle of beer. He fumbled after it, grabbing it and, because it had been nearly full, the foam volcanoed out of the top. He covered it with his mouth, taking a long swig, grateful for the cold liquid, aware as hell that he’d gone from semi-aroused to fully locked and loaded, in the beat of a heart.
What the hell?
Yeah, it had been a long time since he’d gotten some, but
damn
.
His nameless new friend had pushed her stool slightly back from the bar—away from him—and she was now frowning down at her injured foot, rotating her ankle. She then looked up at him, and the world seemed to tilt. Because there was heat in her eyes, too. Heat and surprise and speculation and …
Absolute possibility.
“I’m Mac,” she told him as she tossed back the remains of her final drink. “And I don’t usually do this, but … I’ve got a place, just around the corner.”
She was already pulling on her jacket, putting on her scarf and hat.
As if his going with her was a given. As if there were no way in hell that he’d turn her down.
Shane was already off the stool and grabbing his own jacket, as she—Mac—went out the door. Her limp was less pronounced—apparently the whiskey had done her some good. In fact, she was moving pretty quickly. He had to hustle to keep up.
“Hey,” he said, as they hit the street, and the bar door closed behind him. “Um, Mac? Maybe we should find, you know, a dealer? I’m not carrying any um … So unless you have, you know …” He cleared his throat.
She stopped walking and looked up at him. Standing there on the sidewalk, he was aware of how much bigger and taller he was. She was tiny—and significantly younger than he’d thought. More like twenty-two, instead of pushing thirty, the way he’d figured her to be, back in the bar.
Or maybe it was just the glow from the dim streetlight, making her look like youthful beauty and desire personified.
“Why do men have a problem saying
the pill
?” she asked.
Shane laughed. “It’s not the words,” he told her. “It’s the concept. See, what if I’d misunderstood and—”
“You didn’t. And FYI, this is Massachusetts. It’s still legal here. No need to back-alley it.”
“Well, good. But … we still need … some.”
She smiled, and Jesus, she was beautiful. “Don’t worry, I got it handled.” Her gaze became a once-over that was nearly palpable, lingering for a moment on the unmistakable bulge beneath the button-fly of his jeans. She looked back into his eyes. “Or I will, soon enough.”
No doubt about it, his luck had changed.
“Please promise that you’re not luring me back to your apartmentwith the intention of locking me in chains and keeping me as your love slave,” he said. “Or—wait. Maybe what I really want is for you to promise that you
are
.”
She laughed at that. “You’re not my type for long-term imprisonment,” she told him. But then she stood on her toes, tugging at the front of his jacket so that he leaned down. She was going to kiss him and they both knew it, but she
She smiled at that, and even though it was a rueful smile, it transformed her. “Yeah, actually, you don’t. I mean, you think you find me … But …” She shook her head.
Shane leaned forward. “I’m pretty sure you don’t know what I’m thinking.” He tried to let her see it in his eyes, though—the fact that he was thinking about how it would feel for both of them with his tongue in her mouth, with her hands in his hair, her legs locked around him as he pushed himself home.
He reached out to touch her—nothing too aggressive or invasive—just the back of one finger against the narrow gracefulness of her wrist.
But just like that, the vaguely fuzzy picture in his head slammed into sharp focus, and she was moving against him, naked in his arms, and, Christ, he was seconds from release as he gazed into her incredible eyes.…
Shane sat back so fast that he knocked over his bottle of beer. He fumbled after it, grabbing it and, because it had been nearly full, the foam volcanoed out of the top. He covered it with his mouth, taking a long swig, grateful for the cold liquid, aware as hell that he’d gone from semi-aroused to fully locked and loaded, in the beat of a heart.
What the hell?
Yeah, it had been a long time since he’d gotten some, but
damn
.
His nameless new friend had pushed her stool slightly back from the bar—away from him—and she was now frowning down at her injured foot, rotating her ankle. She then looked up at him, and the world seemed to tilt. Because there was heat in her eyes, too. Heat and surprise and speculation and …
Absolute possibility.
“I’m Mac,” she told him as she tossed back the remains of her final drink. “And I don’t usually do this, but … I’ve got a place, just around the corner.”
She was already pulling on her jacket, putting on her scarf and hat.
As if his going with her was a given. As if there were no way in hell that he’d turn her down.
Shane was already off the stool and grabbing his own jacket, as she—Mac—went out the door. Her limp was less pronounced—apparently the whiskey had done her some good. In fact, she was moving pretty quickly. He had to hustle to keep up.
“Hey,” he said, as they hit the street, and the bar door closed behind him. “Um, Mac? Maybe we should find, you know, a dealer? I’m not carrying any um … So unless you have, you know …” He cleared his throat.
She stopped walking and looked up at him. Standing there on the sidewalk, he was aware of how much bigger and taller he was. She was tiny—and significantly younger than he’d thought. More like twenty-two, instead of pushing thirty, the way he’d figured her to be, back in the bar.
Or maybe it was just the glow from the dim streetlight, making her look like youthful beauty and desire personified.
“Why do men have a problem saying
the pill
?” she asked.
Shane laughed. “It’s not the words,” he told her. “It’s the concept. See, what if I’d misunderstood and—”
“You didn’t. And FYI, this is Massachusetts. It’s still legal here. No need to back-alley it.”
“Well, good. But … we still need … some.”
She smiled, and Jesus, she was beautiful. “Don’t worry, I got it handled.” Her gaze became a once-over that was nearly palpable, lingering for a moment on the unmistakable bulge beneath the button-fly of his jeans. She looked back into his eyes. “Or I will, soon enough.”
No doubt about it, his luck had changed.
“Please promise that you’re not luring me back to your apartmentwith the intention of locking me in chains and keeping me as your love slave,” he said. “Or—wait. Maybe what I really want is for you to promise that you
are
.”
She laughed at that. “You’re not my type for long-term imprisonment,” she told him. But then she stood on her toes, tugging at the front of his jacket so that he leaned down. She was going to kiss him and they both knew it, but she
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