Bungalow Nights(28)

Now it was open near to her navel.

No, not even close really, but damn, from certain angles it would reveal the top curves of her breasts. Like from his angle. He was tall enough that when he looked down he couldn’t miss the pale mounds of her skin. His mouth went dry, and his fingers curled toward his palms as impulse poured like adrenaline into his bloodstream. Touch, it insisted, while his common sense tried negating the thought.

Bad idea, it reminded him.

Addy stepped nearer, and he pressed the small of his back into the countertop. She reached around for the cupboard behind him. “Glasses in here?” she asked, going on tiptoe.

It was as if she didn’t realize she was nearly plastered against the length of his body. That if he moved his head just a fraction, his mouth could find the soft skin of her temple and from there slide down to the pink warmth of her mouth.

Baxter sucked in a breath.

And on her perfume, was taken back in time.

He’d slowly made his way around the dance floor to where the pixie had staked out her place in the half shadows. She hadn’t seemed to notice his approach, as absorbed as she was in watching the couples spin and turn. Some of them actually knew how to dance. Others were just using the music as an excuse to touch, hand-to-hand, hip-to-hip.

Baxter had tugged on the ends of the pixie’s long hair. She’d started, turned, then, even in the dim light, he’d seen the deep rose color overtake her face.

And he’d fallen back. Crap. Too young?

But he was nothing if not polite, so he’d introduced himself. She’d nodded, said her own name and, half afraid and half relieved, he’d attempted the all-important calculations. Because he knew Addison March, or at least of her. She’d lived down the road and surely...if his memory was correct... Then, Baxter Smith, a day away from leaving town to enter a world-renowned MBA program, was forced to ask a question because his brain was too muddled to add for himself.

“How old are you?”

Frankly, nineteen had still felt too young. Disappointed, he’d meant to make his excuses and walk away. But she was staring at him with big eyes and still wearing that pretty blush. Somehow he’d found himself asking her to dance.

She didn’t know how to two-step.

It was pretty evident from the way she trembled against him, from the way her breath came so shallow and fast, that Addy didn’t know how to do two-anything. Another clear warning to him.

They were just going to dance.

“Are you all right?” Addy asked now.

Yanked back into the present, he jolted, moving away from her tempting scent and penetrating gaze. Did she know what he was thinking?

“Would you like a soda instead?” he choked out. Yeah, they were adults and all, but surely alcohol wasn’t safe to add to this mix.

Addy shrugged. “Wine is fine. Or beer—if it’s light. I only drink light beer.”

She’d had one that night. It wasn’t Baxter’s fault. Somebody else had actually given it to her, she’d told him, a bottle of golden brew with a slice of lime from the Smith family ranch shoved into the neck. Before they’d danced, she’d set the empty down at her feet. And after the dance, seduced from his good intentions by the perfect way she’d fit in his arms, he’d tasted the citrusy tartness on her lips, tasted the smoky yeastiness of the beer on her tongue. Yeah, he’d kissed her.

He didn’t think she’d been tipsy. One beer hadn’t incapacitated her.

But he’d been drunk. Drunk on her kiss, her petite body, on the spontaneity of it all. So off-the-Schedule.

As they’d walked arm-in-arm toward the bachelor house on the other side of the oak grove, the spacious quarters that had separate suites of rooms for him and Fitz and Vance, he’d been just a little high on doing something he hadn’t planned beforehand. It had felt like falling in love, wild and impetuous and completely out of control.

Addy approached him now, her footsteps steady on the kitchen’s hardwood floor. Baxter tensed, unwilling to be the victim of his urges once again. They were supposed to be getting to know each other like grown-ups. In a responsible way. He was supposed to be considering whether he wanted to casually date her, which was the only option available at this time according to the BSLS.

“Baxter,” she said, shaking her head. There was a very adult look in her eye. An adult note of admonition in her voice.

“What?” he asked, fiddling with the end of his tie.

She took that hand. Placed it down at his side. Then, her knuckles brushing against his ribs, she grabbed the tail of silk and yanked him toward her.

“Wait,” he said, his other hand on her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

She blinked. “I have to tell you?” There was a very sensual, very knowing look in her eyes.

A look he’d put there. Six years ago, she’d been as ignorant about sex as she’d been about the two-step, and he’d taught her how to do both. Sweet Lord. What a turn-on.

“I didn’t want it to go this way,” he murmured.

Her brows rose, not in doubt but in challenge. “Is that right?”

His hand was no longer pushing her away, but instead caressed that small cap of her shoulder. He was supposed to be the master of his urges, but looking at her, at that tinge of a flush breaking across her cheekbones, at the darkness of her pupils almost swallowing the green of her eyes, he realized that while he might be the master of his urges, he was no match for hers.

She stepped away. But his tie was still gripped in her small hand and he moved with her as she backed out of the kitchen. Without asking, she found the interior hall, still taking him with her.

With a slight shake of his head, he indicated they should pass the first door on the right. “Extra bedroom.”

Her feet moved past the bathroom that came after that.

Then they were at the end of the hall and inside the big master bedroom. Dropping his tie, she looked around her, taking in the king-size bed, the large chest of drawers, the flat-screen TV on one wall. Her gaze landed on the sliding glass doors that afforded yet another view. It was still plenty light in the room even though the drapes were drawn. At this height, they weren’t really necessary for privacy, so he’d chosen only the sheerest fabric. He started his days early.

As Addy continued to stare at them, yet another memory rose in his mind.

He hadn’t taken her to the bachelor house with the focused intention of getting her into bed. After three dances in his arms, she’d mentioned she was cold and he’d volunteered to find her something from his closet. He would have dashed back to get a sweatshirt and then returned, but she’d offered to accompany him.

She’d already shared kisses with him at the dark edges of the dance floor. He’d not been averse to making out more.

A few more kisses couldn’t hurt.

Once inside the empty bachelor house, he’d found her a soft fleece jacket that she’d draped over her shoulders before draping herself on the couch. Though he’d taken a seat several cushions away, in moments they’d been in each other’s arms again. Her perfumed warmth against him, her cloud of hair in his hands, her pretty face upturned.

The bedroom then, like now, had been her idea.

Her small tongue in his mouth had melted all his objections. Within seconds of her proposing they go there, he’d ripped off his metaphorical merit badges and led her to his big bed. Six years ago, an expression of doubt had crossed her face as she first glimpsed the smooth bedspread and stacked pillows. The same one she wore now.

So he sought to reassure her in the same way. “Hey, we don’t have to do this.”

She responded with the exact same words. “Turn off the lights.”

Then, he had. Now he couldn’t. “Addy, there aren’t any on. It’s the sun.”

Her gaze turned toward the filmy covering on the glass sliders and her teeth worried her bottom lip.

“Addy...” He crossed to her and put both hands on her shoulders. “Look, second thoughts are fine.”

“Second chances don’t always come around,” she muttered, then whirled to face him. “Kiss me.”

His thought was to take the heat down a notch. To turn the fire down to simmer, so that they would have clearer heads with which to reconsider. But when his lips touched hers she kissed him the way he’d taught her, mouth instantly opening to reveal the hot, sweet juiciness inside.

His body hardened and when she pressed against it she moaned. Damn, he thought, his hand sliding down to cup her ass, she was as determined as she’d been six years ago. As dangerous to his defenses.

They were still dressed when they stretched out on the bed. Her scent surrounding them, she crawled over him, kissing his mouth, sucking on his neck. He breathed her in, he reveled in her taste, his body imprinting on hers so that he worried he might end up following her around for the rest of his life like a baby duck after its mama. For a while he let her have her way—he’d done that six years ago, too—but then he had to touch.