Not My Romeo (The Game Changers #1)(38)

“How?”

“I had someone look into it. You have to come closer if you want these panties.”

“Fine.” She’s now two inches from me; I can feel the heat of her skin, the shirt she’s wearing close to brushing up against my chest. I inhale her scent, fresh with a bit of— “Did you drink whiskey before you came?” My words are incredulous. “Do you have no respect at all?” I chuckle.

She tilts her head up and gives me a glare. “It was a leftover sip from last night! If you had to live in this town and deal with my family—who, by the way, are doing their best to set me up with Patrick—”

Jealousy crawls all over me. “The preacher? No way. He’s not for you. You’re too wild.”

“No, I’m not!”

I grin. “Want me to tell you the ways you’re wild?”

She ignores me and makes a grab for the panties, and I jerk them behind my back. She reaches behind me, grappling for them, her tits against my body, firm and hard and so freaking perfect.

“Give me those,” she hisses.

“Take them.”

“You’re too big!” She makes another move for them and comes close to getting them. I dance off from her, and she follows me, teetering a little in her heels, making little grabs, but I switch hands and put them farther from her reach.

“Jack Hawke, give me my panties.” She looks up at me, little puffs of air coming from her chest.

“Give me a kiss first.”

Her arms fall at her sides, pretty eyes wide. “Why?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about your lips.”

“You want them around your cock?”

I groan when that dirty word leaves her lips, then laugh at the surprised look on her face, as if she never expected herself to say that. “Maybe. We didn’t do that. But I’d also like a long, breathy, make-out kiss, the kind you give me when you haven’t had several gin and tonics.”

“Oh.” She looks confused, and I suck in a sharp breath at what I’ve said.

Make-out kiss?

Too soon, too fast.

My mouth still won’t stop.

“I want you, Elena,” I say softly.

She sways a little, as if she’s dancing, and I move in closer until I can see the white flecks in those big eyes, the way her lashes are thick and curled, the way her skin is so perfect, creamy and— She yanks the panties from my hands. “Aha! Mine, thank you very much.” She laughs up at me, red lips curving up, and my heart skips a beat.

“You tricked me.” I wrap my hand around her nape, tugging her hair down from her updo until it spills down her back. I arrange it until it falls over her shoulders, the strands silky and soft, the red and gold colors blending together.

“What are you doing?” she says, frozen, her voice hushed, laughter gone. “We’re in church.”

“You said cock in church, so this is nothing.”

“I could have been referring to a rooster.”

“You weren’t.”

She blushes.

“I’m going to kiss you, Elena. Right here in the nursing mothers’ room.”

“I don’t think you should.”

“Right now in this instance, I am. I don’t think I paid nearly enough attention to your lips on Friday night.” My lips hover over hers, and I tilt her head up. “If you want to run, now’s your chance.”

Her breath comes out in little pants. “You better not kiss me.”

“Then move away from me.”

“I shouldn’t have to.”

“You really should, or it’s going to happen.”

“No, it isn’t!”

Her breath hitches. But she doesn’t move a muscle.

“Last chance,” I say softly, tugging on a piece of her hair.

“Stop that.”

I laugh. “You’re like an angry kitten. But you aren’t moving. I’m not holding you, Elena.”

“I can’t move!”

“Same.”

She takes a breath. “But it’s church, and we shouldn’t.”

“People kiss when they get married here.”

“You’re infuriating.” Her eyes are on my mouth as her tongue comes out and dabs at her lips.

“I want to show you so many things, Elena.”

“You mean like sex things? Because I may be a little inexperienced, but I assure you I can keep up quite well—”

“I know.” I laugh and press my lips against hers.





Chapter 15

ELENA

I forgot how beautifully he kisses, his lips soft at first as they meet mine, parting my mouth, widening it slowly with little nips, his tongue delving deep, sliding against mine. His hand lands on my hip before sliding around to cup my ass. “Elena,” he murmurs against my cheek and takes my mouth again, sure and fast, his tongue tangling with mine. He tastes divine, sweet and dark mixed together, and we go from zero to a thousand in five seconds, starved and ravenous, our hands all over each other. Mine slide up his chest, stroking the expensive fabric, the rustle of my touch against him more erotic than it should be. My nipples bead inside my bra, erect and aching, and I grab his hair, sinking into him and letting go of all the misgivings I have. Why not? Kissing him is like holding an exploding star, hot and vibrant and lethal—and I want it. Just one little peck, I tell myself. Besides, it’s the kind of kiss you write in your diary; it’s the one you’ll remember when you’re old and gray.