The Sapphire Affair (Jewel #1)(15)

“My pleasure. And it is also a pleasure to meet you, Ariel,” he said, extending a hand to shake.

Don’t think about pulling him against you. Stop imagining what his body would feel like above you. No more staring at those full lips and wondering how they taste, and feel, and . . .

Fuck it.

This man was hot and fun, and that was a mixture she liked a lot. After the extreme focus she’d placed on rehabbing her business in the last few years, a little bit of sexy flirting was a welcome relief. Maybe her mom was right. Maybe Steph did need to have a little fun.

“Is it really Jake?” she said, not letting go of his hand, enjoying the way his name sounded. “Or did you pick a fake name, too? Because Jake is the perfect name for a totally hot guy a woman meets in a bar.”

He smiled widely, and she loved that it seemed to light up his whole face, all the way to his green eyes. He was handsome and then some, but the reaction, so genuine, was lovely to see. So rare to compliment a man and to witness the evidence of his enjoyment of it. “Yes, the name is really Jake, and thank you. Seems we have a mutual admiration society at work here.”

“Yes,” she said with a small grin. “There is much admiration, and I’m glad it’s mutual.” As she let go of his grip, her eyes drifted to a white, raised mark on his forearm. “By the way, cool scar. Is it a new acquisition?”

He tapped his forearm. “Yes it is. Wish I could say the acquisition was intentional.”

“It wasn’t?”

He shook his head.

“What happened?” She flung her hand to her forehead, like a fortune-teller reading the cards. “Wait. Don’t tell me. You got in a knife fight in an alley, Jason Bourne style? You’ve gone rogue and the CIA is after you? Or better yet, you slipped while gutting a fish after one too many beers?”

He pointed at her. “That one.”

She mimed tossing a basketball. “She shoots. She scores.” She tilted her head. “But seriously?”

“What can I say? Fishing and beer go together, but not when knives are involved.”

She wagged a finger at him. “You gotta be careful there, Jake.”

“I know, I know. Maybe if I catch anything tomorrow, I could find a mermaid to help me.”

“Mermaids don’t like it when you catch fish. Or turtles.”

“That is true. Pretend I never said that. I would never catch a fish. I’m absolutely not here on a fishing trip. In fact, I’m here to admire the gorgeous scenery.”

She nodded approvingly. “Much better answer.”

He pointed to her glass, nearly empty. “Can I get you another whiskey?”

“It’s iced tea, actually, and I’m trying to cut back, so I’m all good.”

“Been hitting the caffeine too hard?”

She nodded solemnly. “Evidently, when I drink too much, it makes me say things I shouldn’t say. Like totally hot guy in a bar.”

He grinned and held up the glass as if to ask for more. “Let’s make it a double,” he said, and after they chatted more about fish and the sea and the Islands, he pointed to the dartboard. “Since you have that dart certification and all, any chance you can give me a few pointers?” he asked, standing up to grab a dart from the board. He returned and held it out to her. She rose and moved closer, and when she reached for the end, he wrapped a hand around her wrist and tugged her in close.

Just like that. The gauntlet was thrown. The move was made. She was in his arms. Poised. For something more. For this moment to unspool into something else. A ribbon of heat raced through her body as she catalogued everything. His gaze held her hostage. His green eyes blazed darkly as he stared at her like he wanted to eat her up. That fierce look made her shudder. She was so close she could breathe him in, and his skin smelled so damn good. Like sunshine and showers. And he was hard everywhere. Not just there, because she wasn’t exactly in that spot, but his arms, and his abs, and his legs.

His fingers curled around her waist, gripping her as Jack Johnson sang about banana pancakes and pretending it’s the weekend all the time.

“Three things,” he whispered, his voice all rough and hot, turning her on before he even uttered another word. “One, I want to kiss you. Two, I’m going to kiss you. Three, if you don’t want me to, say no now. Otherwise . . .”

He inched closer. She parted her lips, and a small sigh escaped. “Yes.”

She closed her eyes and waited. In that second before his lips met hers, the wondrous thrill of anticipation weaved through her body. The hope that kissing a stranger named Jake in a bar would be worth it. That he wouldn’t kiss like a slobbery Saint Bernard, all tongue and exuberance. Nor like a schoolboy, hell-bent on vacuuming up her lips. Call her greedy, call her needy, or just call her a woman who hadn’t been kissed well in a long while.

But she wanted that kiss.

The kind that made your knees weak.

That sent your heart fluttering.

That spread warmth on a sweet, shivery path through your chest.

His lips met hers. His were so damn soft, and full, and delicious. He didn’t rush it. He took his time, exploring her mouth, brushing his lips over hers, tasting her. That tingly sensation sped up, shooting through her, like an injection of pure, unadulterated pleasure as she melted into his kiss.

He was snug against her, and she savored it—the delicious press of his body as he swept his lips across hers, his touch making her moan. The kiss deepened as he ran his fingertips along her bare arm, igniting her skin. He dropped his hand to her lower back, angling her closer, and oh, how she’d craved this kind of closeness. Badly. She wanted to climb him. She wanted to feel him above her, moving in her, holding her tight. This rampant desire was a matchstick. Roping her arms around his neck, she curled her fingers into the ends of his hair.