Until the Tequila (The Killers #3.5)(6)

I swallow. “See? You think you know so much, but the joke’s on you. I was eighteen and a half.”

He tips his head. “You’re not nearly as funny now as you are when you’re drunk.”

I shrug and keep feeding my hangover. The greasy fries are a balm to my queasy stomach. “I don’t tie one on very often, so there’s no reason for you to stick around and experience me sober.” I raise my hand with salt-covered fingers. “Boring to the bone.”

He ignores me. “Why did you move to the middle-of-nowhere, bum-fuck Virginia?”

I reach in the sack again. “I came for George Washington and I stay for the free wine and cows that come with being Addy’s friend.”

He narrows his eyes. “Who kept calling you last night? You had more calls and texts than most people get in a week and, every time I asked, you grumbled some mumbo-jumbo about your past life coming back to bite you in your sweet ass.”

With that, my stomach isn’t grumbling anymore. It’s clenching and twisting.

He lowers his voice and takes a step. I have to tip my head to look up at him, he’s so much taller than me standing on bare feet. “Unless you’re a time-traveler, I want to know about this past life of yours because I don’t plan on anyone getting close to your ass besides me.”

I swallow hard and shift my weight. Feeling the heat radiating from him, along with talk of him anywhere near my ass, causes me to become wet where I’m pantyless.

He reaches up and twirls one of my long curls around his index finger as his eyes wander over me. “I promise I won’t bite it.”

I rub my thighs together and squeeze my eyes shut. “Evan, please.”

He doesn’t stop. “Okay, if you’re into that, I have no problem biting you.”

My eyes fly open and the next thing I know, his single finger curled around my teal-colored hair turns into a fist. “I guess I’ll just have to kiss it out of you.”

Then his hand grips the back of my neck and his lips land on mine.

It’s such a shock, my breath catches and my lips part.

For the first time ever, I’m kissing Evan Charles Hargrove III. I’m so glad I brushed my teeth earlier.

I mean, I’ve had my share of first kisses and this is not your run-of-the-mill encounter with another set of lips.

His mouth devours mine as he turns and presses me into the counter, our bodies making full-on contact. I feel every one of his toned muscles press into my small, soft curves through my thin robe. That tongue, which has teased me so many times when he’s sent me secret looks, plunges into my mouth as desperate as a starved sailor abandoned at sea. With one hand in my hair and the other reaching down to fist my kimono at my thigh, he’s everywhere, making my heart speed.

I’ve tried not to dream of Evan, but I’m weak and not disciplined in much of anything. It doesn’t matter how much I’ve tried to avoid his attention because we just don’t fit, this kiss is everything I imagined it would be.

Yet, so much more.

Dragging his hand up my body, the silk pulls with his touch and he brushes the bottom of my breast through the thin material. I can’t help it—I moan against his tongue as it explores me. This spurs him on and he deepens his kiss. His big hand cups my breast and squeezes, roughly pinching my nipple between his index finger and thumb.

The sensation shoots straight south and I gasp for air. “Evan.”

He pulls his head back, his chest rising and falling—just as affected by our first kiss—and stares into me. “You said so many things last night, I don’t even know where to start with you.”

I frown and try to catch my breath, but he still has a firm hold of my breast and isn’t letting go. I swallow and try to fidget but he presses his hips into me. His cock, thick and hard, indents my belly, making me wetter than I already was. “I was drunk. I can’t be held responsible for what I say under the influence.”

He hikes a brow. “People are honest when they’re drunk.”

“Not me,” I lie, now more worried than ever about how I can recover from my drunken prattling. “I’m a big, fat liar when I drink. I’m famous for it. It’s my signature party trick.”

His lips tip and suddenly those perfect all-American white teeth glint at me. “Party trick?”

“Yeah. Everyone has one. Like tying a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue. Cherry stems and lies. I’m known for them.”

His voice dips and he pinches my nipple again, twisting this time. “Maybe you’d like to talk more about what you can do with your tongue.”

I give my head a shake but more to ward off the shiver running down my spine from what he’s doing to my breast rather than his words. “No. I don’t think that would be a good idea, either.”

He gives me another squeeze and my body heats—the silk like wool on a hot summer day. “Then how about I list all the things you lied about last night.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. There’s really no reason to dredge up the past.”

“Where do I start?” He ignores me and his eyes drop to my chest. His hand pulls through my hair, feeling its way down my side, landing low on my hip. “First, you lied about how much you loved my ass.”

“I did not,” I gasp. Of course, that’s not a lie. He has a great ass. Addy told me he plays lacrosse in his spare time, so maybe that’s it. It’s muscular and, when he bends over behind the bar to reach for a bottle of wine, it’s downright perfection.