Off Base(49)

“Good.” She nodded stiffly. “I mean, we didn’t even kiss.” Okay, this would be the point where she stopped talking. “We did that other … stuff … but we’ve never even kissed.” Sweet Jesus, she was babbling.

His head tilted to the side a fraction, his hooded eyes studying her, the corners of his well-carved mouth dipping as if that had not occurred to him. “No,” he said softly, his voice a deep purr that stroked her skin. “We skipped that.”

“Yeah.” She continued nodding like one of those bobblehead dolls. “Right? We haven’t even kissed, and that’s the most basic form of making out, right? Like first base. We skipped first base, so. So …”

God, Huntley, shut up. Before she could insert her foot any deeper in her mouth, she whirled around and unlocked her door.

She pulled it open and her spine collided with his chest. “Oh, excuse me.”

His warm breath gusted her cheek. She turned. His mouth was so close. Tantalizingly close. She caught a whiff of his mint toothpaste. Her gaze darted from his lips to his eyes, so dark and mesmerizing. They pulled her in, muddied her thoughts. She leaned in slightly, forgetting everything, wanting that mouth.

“Such a shame,” he murmured. His thumb brushed her bottom lip and a bolt of lust shot through her body. “I should have tasted this mouth when I had the chance.”

Desire licked through her, mingling with regret. He exerted more pressure on her bottom lip, parting her mouth so that his thumb dipped between her lips. Her breathing hitched. She tasted him with her tongue, the barest, swirling stroke, and his eyes went black with heat. He closed the fraction of space between them, his chest grazing the front of her dress. Her breasts grew heavy and tight, aching. Sweet Jesus, he was going to do it. Yes, yes, please.

He dropped his hand and pulled back.

She fell back a step against her car, gulping a shuddering breath, fighting for composure. Tossing him a faltering smile, she slid inside her car. “Glad we had this talk.”

He stared down at her, the heat in his eyes banked.

She offered him a tremulous smile. Everything was supposed to be fine between them now. There wasn’t supposed to be any more weirdness or tension. Except for the fact that she couldn’t quite catch her breath and her skin felt like it might catch fire.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat, desire still pumping through her and settling heavily between her legs. “I’ll see you around.” Ugh. Couldn’t she project more confidence? It sounded more like a question than a statement.

He nodded, looking at her with his cold, hooded gaze. The dark, slashing brows over those deeply set eyes made her stomach dip and twist.

“Sure,” he said, but his hand lingered on the frame like he was going to stop her, and a part of her wanted him to.

She wanted him to argue with her. To insist things could never go back to normal. To yank her door open and haul her out of the car, snatch her up in his arms and kiss her senseless.

Only he didn’t do that. Of course not. She wasn’t the irresistible sort that drove controlled men like Cullen to lose control. Last night had been an anomaly.

She tugged on her door and he let it go. It shut with a thud, sealing her in like she was protected within a little bubble. She on the inside. He outside.

With shaking hands, she turned her ignition and started the car. Still watching him, she backed out of her spot, her breath a ragged rattle in her chest. Get it together, Huntley. You have a date.

Training her gaze ahead, she drove away.

*

It took everything in Cullen not to march across the parking lot and get into his truck and follow her.

Why the hell hadn’t he kissed her?

Now he was consumed with this regret, feverish for the taste of her he had missed.

Shit. He dragged a hand over his scalp. When it came to Huntley, he had ceased to think. The only thing guiding him was his cock. It was a real problem.

He could only replay her words in his head. We didn’t even kiss. We skipped first base.

It was a fact he had been achingly aware of from the moment she left his house last night. He couldn’t explain the oversight. Only that when he felt her back her ass into him, he could only think of getting his hands on her, sliding his fingers inside her heat, touching her where he imagined burying his dick.

Her words served to taunt and challenge him simultaneously. He knew she didn’t intend for that, but her intention didn’t matter. There was only what he felt. The need to chase her, pin her down and take. Claim. Finish what they began. This possessiveness was a wholly new experience for him. It never happened with other women, and he knew it was because Huntley wasn’t like other women for him.

Cursing, he retreated to his truck and headed home. Once there, he changed and took a run, pounding out his frustration on asphalt in the fading light of day until sweat clung to him.

He pushed himself until his muscles burned, and then he turned back and ran the remaining miles home. He sought exhaustion. Bone-deep weariness. Maybe if he were good and tired, he wouldn’t spend the rest of the night thinking about her.

That plan lasted until he returned to his empty house and took a shower. Walking into his bedroom, he glanced at the clock. Five minutes past seven.

Immediately, he had a vision of Huntley sitting at Java Joe’s, nursing her steaming mug with whatever latest book she was reading in one of the coffeehouse’s comfy, well-worn armchairs. She was probably there now. He usually joined her. He chalked it up to doing his part, keeping his promise to Beck and keeping an eye out for her.