Foreplay (The Ivy Chronicles #1)(35)

“Mike’s in charge,” he told her.

Her gaze flicked from him to me and her mouth sagged open in a small O of surprise.

We walked through the kitchen, past the two fry cooks with nets over their heads. Reece stopped in front of a pantry door. He pulled out a set of keys, unlocked it, and pulled the door wide open.

Peering inside, I didn’t see the shelves of supplies I expected. A set of stairs stretched up ahead of us. He pulled me in behind him and locked the door.

My heartbeat quickened. Blood rushed to my ears at the proximity of him. At our sudden aloneness. Instantly the sounds of the bar were muffled, like someone had just lowered the volume on a remote control.

A light glowed from the top of the stairs, saving us from total darkness. Not that we lingered long at the bottom of the stairs. He pulled me after him, his warm fingers still folded over mine.

Our steps thudded on the wood stairs, reverberating in the narrow space. The steps abruptly cleared to a wide open room. Wood floors, brick walls. Some interesting framed photographs were scattered here and there. On the walls. Leaning against a bookcase. The area was large, equipped with a bed, office space, and living area. A kitchen occupied the far right corner. A dark couch sat in front of a big screen. Otherwise not too much decor. Typical guy pad, I assumed. Not that I had been inside many. He released my hand and sank down onto a chair. I watched dumbly as he unlaced his boots.

“You live here?” I managed to get out.

“Yeah.” Just that. A single monosyllable. The first boot hit the floor. He didn’t look up at me as he worked on his second boot.

“Just you?” Duh. Did I think all the bartenders slept up here?

He shot me a quick look. “I own the place.”

“Mulvaney’s? You own it?”

“It’s been in my family for fifty years. I’m Reece Mulvaney. My dad ran it until two years ago. Now I do.”

“Oh.” I don’t know why that changed anything, but suddenly it did.

Suddenly I felt more uncomfortable. He’d grown up in this place. He’d seen it all. Everything. All manner of silly, horny college students traipsing through the doors. I thought of my earlier confession to him. That I’d come here looking for experience. God. He must think I was the silliest of them all.

I buried my hands in my tight pockets, watching, waiting for him to say something else. To explain what it was he was thinking. What we were doing here.

What I was doing here.

He stood back up in one fluid motion. He moved like some kind of jungle cat. Effortless and graceful. His eyes settled on me intently, glowing in that strange way, like lit from within.

He approached—not fast, but with easy strides.

He stopped before me, leaving only an inch between us. I couldn’t breathe. The air left me, but I couldn’t draw it back in. I fixed my gaze on his chest, suddenly too overcome with nerves to look up at his face, and that posed a whole new problem for me. Because I could only think how broad, how hard his chest looked. I could only gawk at the golden skin peeking out of his collar.

Then his hands were on my face, his palms cupping my cheeks, his fingers burrowing into my hair. My scalp tightened and tingled. He forced my face up. I saw a flash of his pale blue eyes before his head descended, and everything else was lost except this. Him. His lips on mine. Blistering hot.

There was just his mouth, his hands gripping my face, my head. His tongue stroked my bottom lip. I gasped and he took advantage, sweeping inside, and I was full of the taste of him. I leaned forward, melting into him. His hard length against me made me feel giddy, boneless. Sensation overwhelmed me. There was no mistaking his power, his strength. It radiated from him in waves, and as heady as all of that—all of him—was, it also frightened me a little. Like one of those rides at the amusement park that dropped you from the sky and then jerked you back up a second before smacking to earth. I felt far from safe right now.

I broke for air, panicked and gasping. “Wait, please.” My voice trembled as I looked toward the stairs, assessing my escape options. My eyes did a quick scan, confirming what I already knew. I was totally at his mercy up here.

How insane was this scenario? I let him lead me upstairs to this room. I didn’t do that. That wasn’t who I was.

“What?” His voice was steady, his hands still cupping my face, each of his long fingers a searing imprint.

I fought the dark cravings that urged me to throw myself back at him and continue kissing. I gulped a breath, commanding myself to think this through and ignore the little voice in my head (that sounded a lot like Emerson) urging me to jump his bones.

Avoiding his gaze, I inspected his loft like I might find a solution in the large space. My attention strayed to the bed. And stayed there. The activity in the bar was a low, steady drone beneath us. Like the rumbling from the belly of a beast. For all that it reminded me that there were people below us, we might as well have been on a deserted island. We were well and truly alone. It was just me and him. Us.

He must have read some of my anxiety. His hands flexed on my face. I snapped my gaze back up as his head dipped. He kissed me, capturing my bottom lip with his teeth. My belly did another dive. His teeth released my lip and he licked the tender flesh.

I whimpered.

His lips moved against my mouth, talking. “Don’t worry. I don’t do virgins.”

And then he was kissing me again, his tongue sweeping inside my mouth, his hands diving through my hair and holding my head, angling me for the hot pressure of his lips, giving me no chance for speech. As if I could form coherent words.