Hold Me (Fool's Gold #16)(52)

He returned with a bottle of water and a bowl of popcorn. “I’m closing up soon. The sandwich will only take a couple more minutes. By the time it’s done, the bar will be closed, and you can come out.”

She drank water, then swallowed. “How do you know I want everyone gone?”

“Because you don’t want to talk about what just happened. You don’t want to answer questions.”

She didn’t know how he knew, but he did. He’d guessed the truth, or maybe it wasn’t all that hard to figure out. Either way, he was right. She needed to sing, but she didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to explain.

He left again. She finished the bottle of water, then stood. The room spun a little. She was still feeling a little unsteady on her feet. Not a huge surprise. She’d lost track of how much she’d had to drink.

She made her way to the door and let herself out into the bar.

The open space was bigger when it was empty. There were still glasses on tables. She would guess the place was usually cleaned before closing but that Kipling had hurried everyone along. For her. So she wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Because he fixed things that were broken. Like her.

He walked in from the kitchen, a plate in his hand.

“Eat this, then I’ll take you home.”

Which all sounded very sensible. And at any other time she would have followed his suggestion. Just not right now. Not with the bar spinning and her heart racing and need building.

She walked up to him and took the sandwich from him and put it on a nearby table. Then she rested her hands on his shoulders, leaned in and kissed him.

She wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing. She knew she needed to feel his mouth against hers. She needed to get lost in a different way. One without words. She wanted the heat, the tension, all that she had felt the last time he’d kissed her. Only now, she wanted more than that.

The second his lips touched hers, she parted. He obligingly brushed his tongue against hers. Desire raced through her, igniting sparks all over. She strained to get closer as she realized that the singing hadn’t been quite enough. She needed more. She needed him.

She moved her hands down his arms, then to his back. He was lean yet strong. She explored the breadth of his shoulders, the length of his spine. He kissed her more deeply, teasing her tongue with his. She leaned into him, letting her body melt. Thighs brushed. Her breasts nestled into his chest.

She felt everything. The way he kissed along her jaw and licked the sensitive skin below her ear. The warmth of his breath. The whisper of his fingers against the fabric of her shirt. She didn’t know why her senses seemed enhanced, but they were. Maybe it was the Long Island Iced Tea. Maybe it was the man. Either way, she wanted everything he had to offer.

She reached for his wrists and drew his hands to her breasts. His thumbs touched her nipples, and she groaned.

* * *

KIPLING TOLD HIMSELF to slow down. There was no way he was going to do this with Destiny in a bar. While he had every intention of making love with her, their first time was going to be slow. Planned. Romantic. He wanted to make it good for her maybe two or three times before giving in himself. He had a plan.

Only the message didn’t seem to be getting from his brain to his dick. Maybe it was a lack of blood flow. Maybe it was how she was touching him all over and offering herself to him. Every kiss seemed to draw him in deeper, and he was a big fan of being drawn in.

The sound of her moans nearly did him in. He felt the weight of her curves, the tightness of her nipples. Self-control snapped. He tugged up her T-shirt and tossed it onto the table behind her. Her bra followed, and he could see the swell of her breasts and the tight, taunting nipples begging to be loved.

He lowered his head and kissed her gently, so gently. She whimpered. He drew the tiny bud into his mouth, and her knees gave out.

He caught her as she fell.

“Again,” she breathed, hanging on to him. “Oh, please, do that again.”

He sucked in deeply, pulling and flicking his tongue. She groaned. Her fingers clutched his head as if she wanted to be sure he never let go. He shifted to her other breast and did the same. Her breathing increased, and she squirmed against him, then her head dropped back as she moaned.

She was desire incarnate, he thought hazily. All need and hunger. How had anyone made love with her without pleasing her first? If she was this excited when he was touching her breasts, how difficult would it be to bring her to orgasm?

Men were idiots, he thought cheerfully, toeing off his shoes and removing his own shirt. And that was just plain lucky for him.

He pushed the table aside and settled her on the bench of the booth. She pulled off her boots, then helped him remove her jeans and panties. The second she was naked, she brought his hands back to her breasts, which made it tough for him to take off the rest of his clothes. But he substituted his mouth for his fingers and managed to undress.

She stroked his chest and smiled up at him. Her eyes seemed a little glazed, and for a second, he wondered how drunk she really was. Then she whispered, “Kiss me,” and he was lost.

Their tongues tangled. The bench was long enough for him to stretch out on top of her. Not doing it, he told himself. Not yet. He just wanted to see how they fit together.

She welcomed the weight of him, shifting and then wrapping her arms around him.

“I knew it would be like this,” she murmured against his lips. “DNA always wins out.”