I took a second sip. The fire turned into a glowing river and warmth flooded my whole body.
“Okay, one more question about romance novels.”
I laughed and wondered why my voice sounded especially sparkling this evening when it hadn’t in months. “Okay, but only one.”
“Why are all men in romance novels so arrogant and alpha? Why are they sarcastic?”
“You mean, like you?” I teased. “And that’s two questions. Maybe three.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “No. I’m not arrogant. And my conversational style is subtly ironic. I’m never sarcastic.”
“I’d say you were more in the pointless-but-pleasing conversational category,” I tossed back.
He grinned. Goodness, his teeth were so white and his grin was adorable. I’d never really noticed how stunning until that moment.
“To answer your question, men in romance novels are alpha because it’s what most women want to read about. They want to read about a man taking charge.” I smirked, confident of my abilities to assess gender roles even when drunk. I’d spent the day at the book fair talking about my favorite subjects—sex and erotica and gender roles—and wanted to continue.
He scratched his chin and regarded me with a sideways glance. “Really? Even with feminism? It doesn’t seem like that’s what women always want. Sometimes they seem like they want control over everything.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I pushed a finger softly into his taut chest, aware I had stepped a few inches closer to him, just enough so I could smell his mandarin-and-cedar-scented cologne. Tonight it wrapped around me in little tendrils and I inhaled deep. Odd he was still wearing the brand I’d bought him more than a year ago for Christmas.
“Colin, women want control over certain things. Their careers, their futures, their bodies.”
“Okay, I’ll buy that. But what do they want men to have control of?”
I smiled coyly. “They want a man to take control in the bedroom. They want men to abide by proper gender roles when it comes to sex. Well, most women do. Many women. And they enjoy reading about a man who will do just that. We like to read about men being men behind closed doors.”
“Many women,” he murmured, his eyes flickering downward to my mouth. I licked my lips and couldn’t help but smile. His eyes seemed dangerously blue. “Take charge how? Seems like a conundrum, since women also want control. Explain this to me. Maybe I’ve been wrong about women all along.”
I doubted it, not with his track record, but I played along. “For instance, a kiss. Women want the man to be in charge and kiss them. Take them. No asking, no begging, no waffling. Women want a decisive man, one who knows exactly what he desires and what his partner wants.”
Our eyes met. The seconds that followed were pregnant with possibilities, and I think I stopped breathing. With an amused smile, Colin swiftly cupped my face and leaned in, pressing his mouth to mine. His lips were warm and dominant, and a burst of adrenaline surged through my body.
I was stunned. But I kissed him back, and familiar, long-buried feelings tore through me.
Need. Desire. Want.
We kissed deep and slow, and he bit my bottom lip gently. Then he pulled back and looked me in the eyes. “Like that?” he whispered.
I nodded, mesmerized. “Exactly like that.”
He stepped back and took a sip of his drink. I guzzled mine, my mind reeling. Holy shit, I’d just kissed my husband’s brother. In a bar, in public. A tidal wave of guilt washed over me. Then, another, less honorable feeling.
I craved more.
“That was really bad,” I whispered, biting my bottom lip.
“Was it?”
I looked up. My mouth trembled when I stared at his. “I’m…you’re…”
He put a finger to my lips, and I glanced away, to the bar, then back at him.
“Shh. We’ve both gone through a lot. Maybe we need this.” His deep voice sounded so much like my husband’s, but with a touch of rawness,
“Okay, one more question about romance novels.”
I laughed and wondered why my voice sounded especially sparkling this evening when it hadn’t in months. “Okay, but only one.”
“Why are all men in romance novels so arrogant and alpha? Why are they sarcastic?”
“You mean, like you?” I teased. “And that’s two questions. Maybe three.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “No. I’m not arrogant. And my conversational style is subtly ironic. I’m never sarcastic.”
“I’d say you were more in the pointless-but-pleasing conversational category,” I tossed back.
He grinned. Goodness, his teeth were so white and his grin was adorable. I’d never really noticed how stunning until that moment.
“To answer your question, men in romance novels are alpha because it’s what most women want to read about. They want to read about a man taking charge.” I smirked, confident of my abilities to assess gender roles even when drunk. I’d spent the day at the book fair talking about my favorite subjects—sex and erotica and gender roles—and wanted to continue.
He scratched his chin and regarded me with a sideways glance. “Really? Even with feminism? It doesn’t seem like that’s what women always want. Sometimes they seem like they want control over everything.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I pushed a finger softly into his taut chest, aware I had stepped a few inches closer to him, just enough so I could smell his mandarin-and-cedar-scented cologne. Tonight it wrapped around me in little tendrils and I inhaled deep. Odd he was still wearing the brand I’d bought him more than a year ago for Christmas.
“Colin, women want control over certain things. Their careers, their futures, their bodies.”
“Okay, I’ll buy that. But what do they want men to have control of?”
I smiled coyly. “They want a man to take control in the bedroom. They want men to abide by proper gender roles when it comes to sex. Well, most women do. Many women. And they enjoy reading about a man who will do just that. We like to read about men being men behind closed doors.”
“Many women,” he murmured, his eyes flickering downward to my mouth. I licked my lips and couldn’t help but smile. His eyes seemed dangerously blue. “Take charge how? Seems like a conundrum, since women also want control. Explain this to me. Maybe I’ve been wrong about women all along.”
I doubted it, not with his track record, but I played along. “For instance, a kiss. Women want the man to be in charge and kiss them. Take them. No asking, no begging, no waffling. Women want a decisive man, one who knows exactly what he desires and what his partner wants.”
Our eyes met. The seconds that followed were pregnant with possibilities, and I think I stopped breathing. With an amused smile, Colin swiftly cupped my face and leaned in, pressing his mouth to mine. His lips were warm and dominant, and a burst of adrenaline surged through my body.
I was stunned. But I kissed him back, and familiar, long-buried feelings tore through me.
Need. Desire. Want.
We kissed deep and slow, and he bit my bottom lip gently. Then he pulled back and looked me in the eyes. “Like that?” he whispered.
I nodded, mesmerized. “Exactly like that.”
He stepped back and took a sip of his drink. I guzzled mine, my mind reeling. Holy shit, I’d just kissed my husband’s brother. In a bar, in public. A tidal wave of guilt washed over me. Then, another, less honorable feeling.
I craved more.
“That was really bad,” I whispered, biting my bottom lip.
“Was it?”
I looked up. My mouth trembled when I stared at his. “I’m…you’re…”
He put a finger to my lips, and I glanced away, to the bar, then back at him.
“Shh. We’ve both gone through a lot. Maybe we need this.” His deep voice sounded so much like my husband’s, but with a touch of rawness,
Similar Books
