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“It’s been telling me that you and I are becoming friends,” I say, but my tone isn’t entirely friendly.
Her lips curve up. “Is that so? We’re friends?”
“Feels that way.” But it actually feels like we’re in Tahiti again. And tonight is its own separate night, apart from time and space and reason.
“It does feel that way,” she agrees softly. “Do you think we found that alternate universe you mentioned?”
I inch closer. “I’d like to spend a night in that alternate universe.”
She licks her lips. “Everything’s different there.”
“Nothing’s off-limits there.”
“Maybe that’s where we are.” The words come out a little husky, a lot sexy, and I know what’s changing.
The reminder of who she is, how we’re connected, isn’t keeping me away.
The barrier isn’t strong enough tonight.
No matter how much we talk.
No matter how hard we try to be friends or colleagues or business partners.
The wall can’t hold.
The kind of chemistry we have doesn’t disappear with the snap of your fingers or the flip of a switch.
Yes, I want this newfangled friendship. Yes, I want all our various business arrangements to go swimmingly. And tangoing with someone I work with in close quarters is all kinds of risky.
But hell, this woman and I, we have a lot of unfinished business.
And I want to finish it.
I set a hand on her leg, spreading my palm over the fabric covering her thigh. She trembles under my touch. “There’s something I’ve been wondering,” I say, my fingers playing with her dress.
Her voice is a feather. “What’s that?”
I don’t take my eyes off her. Traveling along her body, I wrap my hand around her hip, tightening my grip. The feel of her is intoxicating.
I’ve definitely had more than one drink. I’ve had a whole bottle.
And I want another.
I move my hand to her face, cupping her cheek, sliding my thumb over her lip. “I can’t stop wondering if you taste like champagne.”
Her eyes are etched with desire, blazing with heat. “Why don’t you find out?”
A voice says Do it.
It’s not a little voice. It’s not Truly’s voice.
It’s in my head, and it’s all mine.
And, honestly, it’s probably connected straight to my libido, since that voice has the tendency to override everything else in moments like this.
Like, for instance, good judgment.
Like warnings from business partners too.
I dip my face to hers, savoring every sliver of a second. Her glossy pink lips part the slightest bit, an invitation.
I take my time, because I want to experience every moment of kissing her again. I dust my thumb over the corner of her lips and seal my mouth to hers, capturing her kiss.
Seven long years unfurl. The moment on the street the other week was a mere snapshot. A five-second trailer to tease the audience, to leave them wanting more. This is the opening credits. The start of the whole story, unfolding on screen.
Her lips part, welcoming me. Roping her arms around my neck, she brings herself closer as I sweep my lips over hers.
Our mouths explore. Touching. Discovering. Tasting.
My brain goes hazy, and as I deepen the kiss, I’m nothing but sensations that overwhelm all else.
It’s sparklers waving, lighting up the darkened sky on a hot summer night.
It’s the exhilarating first dip of a sixty-mile-per-hour roller coaster.
It’s the first sip of a vintage Scotch. A taste that makes you moan. That makes your mouth water and crave so much more.
Kissing Sloane is everything good in the world. She tastes like champagne, and it goes to my head. Her hair smells like vanilla, and it floods my senses. I want to kiss her breathless. Yanking her closer, I grind against her, needing her to feel how much I want her. She groans as she clearly gets my message.
Then she sends her own message, wrapping her hands tighter around my neck. She’s fierce, kissing me harder, rougher.
It’s like past times and it’s like present times, because there’s a brand-new urgency between us.
My pulse spikes and my blood heats. It’s as if a clock is ticking. Hell, time’s speeding up, spinning faster.
I’m vaguely aware we’re in public.
But I don’t care because the woman I’ve wanted for years is rubbing against the outline of my cock. Her fingers dart to my hair, tugging. “Harder, more,” she pants.
Damn, those are two of my favorite words.
I give her a rough, demanding kiss, but soon she breaks it, taking a moment to breathe, to smooth her hair.
“So how are we doing as friends?” she asks, a naughty glint in her lovely brown eyes.
I need a second to recalibrate, since we just went from racing around the track to a leisurely drive.
“I’d say we’re great friends in our alternate universe.” I lower my face and kiss her neck, whispering, “If friends do this . . .”
About Lauren Blakely + Giveaway
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