Tomboy (The Hartigans #3)(59)

His kissed his way down her neck. “You didn’t answer my question.”

It wasn’t fair, and he had to know it. Hell, he was playing this distraction game like a pro, and it took everything she had to remember that her family was just on the other side of her mom’s biggest philodendron.

“This is fun.” She exhaled a shaky breath as her nipples hardened, desperate for the kind of attention her neck was getting. “But it wouldn’t work out.”

That stopped him. He took a step back, which was a blessing even if her whole body let out a collective fuck-you to her for stopping the fun.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he asked, “Why not?”

For so many reasons, most of which had to do with her liking him so much it scared the shit out of her, which there was no way in hell she’d admit out loud. She had to go with something, though, because she could tell by the determined set to his jaw that he wasn’t going to give up on this. Luckily, that dumb hashtag gave her the perfect thing to point to.

“I’ve seen the kind of women you usually date.” She’d seen the pics. He used to get snapped with super-hot, could-have-been-a-model types, like the Rage fan who’d tried to poison him. “That’s not me. I don’t wear skirts and high heels. I’m not into makeup, or having my hair done, and the idea of getting a manicure gives me the shivers. I don’t flirt, and I don’t keep my opinions to myself to safeguard someone else’s ego.”

“You also wouldn’t poison my muffins just so you can play nursemaid.”

“And that brings up another thing. You’re on the road all the time and those hot, sexy women are going to throw themselves at you.”

His eyes went wide. “You think I’d cheat on you?”

Yeah, the idea of that turned the very good Irish whisky in her stomach into battery acid. “No, but I think there would be comparisons, and I’d be found lacking.” She rubbed her stomach, trying to make the ache and the sense of loss go away. “I’m not getting a makeover to fit better into your world.”

“Did I ask you to?” he whisper-shouted.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Good, because I’d hate for us to be confused on that point. A makeover is the last thing in the world you need. Those assholes on social media don’t have a fucking clue what they’re talking about.” He closed the distance between them again, his hands resting on her jean-clad hips. “However, I will say the skirt thing is kind of a bummer. It’s not about how it would look—although I love your legs—but for efficiency. It would be so much easier to touch you right now and show my appreciation for just how fucking hot you are if you were in a skirt.”

And BAM! her entire perspective about skirts changed.

“My whole family is just on the other side of that overgrown potted plant.” Did that sound like a regretful whine to him? That’s sure as hell what it sounded like to her own ears.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe with me,” he said, looking at her as if she was anything but—at least when it came to keeping her clothes on. “But don’t think I’m fooled by that BS you just threw my way. That was a deke.”

Damn. She should have known better. “I’m not trying to use a fake move to throw you off.”

“I think you are, and here’s why. We’ve been thinking about this whole thing all wrong.” His grip on her hips tightened, and he lowered his face close to hers. “Today wasn’t our first date, it was just our latest.”

“Were the others so exciting that I totally forgot about them already?” she asked, desperate to hold on to her sanity before she jumped him in the hallway of her parents’ house.

“Smart-ass.” He gave her a kiss, sliding his lips across hers and twisting his tongue around hers in a quick, ruthless tease meant to tune her up without giving her any way to get off. “We’ve been dating for weeks, but we were both too chicken to call it that.”

It was hard to form any kind of argument when such a delicious ache had started in her core, making her breath catch and her heart race. Desire, hot and demanding, had her burning with want. Wearing a skirt suddenly seemed like, not a good idea, but the best idea ever. All she wanted was to feel him against her, easing that sense of need making her wet.

“You’re reading too much into it.” Her hungry gaze dropped to his hard cock pressing against his jeans. She licked her lips, imagining how good it would be if they were somewhere else and she could just slip down to her knees and take him deep in her mouth. But they weren’t, and she couldn’t, so she forced herself to keep going. “I was just acting like your Lady Luck so you could give yourself permission to love the game again and play it like you know you can.”

He lifted a pierced eyebrow. “Wrong again.”

“I’m never wrong.”

Zach was looking at her as if he’d figured out how to make her come just by glancing her way. The expression on his face should have been illegal. It probably was.

“You are wrong.” He pulled her close, his cock pressing against her stomach, and lowered his voice, made gravelly with want. “Because the woman who came all over my dick the other day wasn’t doing it so I could score a goal. She was doing it because she likes me as much as I like her.” He rocked against her. “And I like her a lot, more than I probably should.”