by Penny Reid
“I’ve only had one-night stands. I’ve never been with the same person twice.”
“What? Never?” I found that shocking as hell, because if I’d been one of those guys, I would’ve moved heaven and earth to make sure there was a second time. And a third, and a fourth, and a—you get the picture.
“No.” She shook her head. “Never. But that doesn’t mean I’m against monogamy.”
“You’re not against monogamy?”
“Shh!” She glanced over her shoulder, giving Mr. Lee and Steven an apologetic smile. She stepped even closer to me, again whispering, “It just hasn’t come up with anyone.”
“‘It hasn’t come up with anyone,’ she says.” I threw my hands in the air, giving my eyes to the ceiling and turning away. “I guess I don’t count,” I muttered, shrugging to myself.
“Can we just—” She followed me, tugging on my sleeve, but didn’t seem to know how to finish her sentence.
This was unbelievable.
Unbelievable.
UnFUCKINGbelievable.
Not polyamorous.
“If you want to change your mind about this, because of my past, I completely understand—”
I turned to face her. “No. I don’t give a flying fuck about your past. I thought—in Vegas, when you said—because my Aunt Becks, she’s—I thought you meant you weren’t—you didn’t want—” Shit. I couldn’t even speak. Nothing made sense.
She started, frustration evaporating from her features, replaced with dawning surprise. Meanwhile, here I was, caught in the startled, unblinking depths of her eyes.
“I don’t understand . . .” The words tumbled from her lips, like she’d spoken without thinking. Her breathing had ticked up, her mouth was open, and her stare was unfocused.
Approaching movement caught my attention. Steven was strolling toward us, a huge smile on his face. “Hey kids. How ya doing? Turns out Mr. Lee needs to go pick up his grandkids so his daughter and her husband can go out to dinner. It’s their sixteenth wedding anniversary. They’ve had some hard times, but things are good now between them—his daughter and son-in-law—so he doesn’t want to be late. You understand.”
Steven reached for Kat’s hand and pulled her back to the front of the room. I watched them for a stunned second. She glanced back at me, her gaze a mess of confusion and something else, something that had my feet moving to catch up.
“Thank you.” Mr. Lee turned a grateful smile on Steven.
My coworker winked at him, reclaiming his spot to the left of the podium and pulled out his phone. “Okay. Wedding time,” he said, lifting his cell. “Smile for the camera.”
I didn’t smile.
This changed everything.
Right?
No.
No, you asshole. For you it changes everything. But for her? Big question mark.
In a disconnected stupor, I stood next to her while Mr. Lee talked at us. Steven filmed the whole thing. At one point, we faced each other. Kat looked completely bewildered. She also looked goddamn gorgeous. Her beauty struck out at me, and it felt like an assault. Also an assault, the openness and vulnerability in her eyes. Looking like this, her eyes were hooks, digging deep, made breathing and thinking at the same time impossible.
When my moment came, I repeated the words I was supposed to repeat and put a ring on her finger. She did the same with me. Then the words stopped and we were staring at each other.
Someone said, “You two should kiss.”
It sounded like Steven.
I wasn’t sure.
But I didn’t care who it was, and I definitely didn’t need to be told twice.
Her brown eyes dropped to my mouth, growing hazy. She swayed forward. I didn’t sway. I advanced on her, moving into her space and putting a finger underneath her chin, not because I needed to—she was already offering me her mouth—but I did it because I wanted to touch her and that seemed like the safest place.
The truth was, if I touched her anywhere else, this was not going to be a Clerk’s-office-appropriate kiss for very long.
Lifting her straining mouth to mine, I brushed my lips against hers, and—oh man—I wanted this moment to last. I wanted it to last forever.
Mostly forgetting that we had an old guy on the sidelines, I pressed our mouths together, telling myself to memorize the feel of her. She was so warm, and soft, and sweet. She reached for me. I felt her fingers twist and grab the front of my suit jacket. It was probably going to wrinkle. I couldn’t fucking care less.
She tugged me forward. I covered her mouth more fully with mine, licking my tongue against her lips. Immediately—no hesitation—she opened up and her tongue came out to taste mine. I groaned, or she did, it didn’t matter. I felt her tremble and I wanted to hold her.
Completely forgetting all my earlier levelheaded ideas about limiting my touch to her face, my arms moved around her waist and my fingers immediately massaged and caressed the bare skin of her back. God, she was so fucking soft. Like silk. I brought her flush against me. She released the front of my jacket and slipped her hands beneath, holding me with equal force.
And what started as a very appropriate kiss quickly escalated into basically me trying to eat her face off, because she tasted so fucking good. I was in very real danger of doing something that was illegal in fourteen of the forty-eight contiguous states. Everything was legal in Alaska. In all fairness, she was biting and sucking on my lips like they were made of Kat-nip.
This woman, the taste of her was something I would never recover from. Heaven. I couldn’t think.
That wasn’t true, I could think, but it was all urges and need. I needed more of her.
Before I knew what I was doing, I walked her backward. Why I did this or where I thought we were going, I had no clue. Eventually Kat’s back connected with a wall and—because it was there—I used it as leverage.
Her hands grabbed fistfuls of my shirt and yanked it from my pants, she made a lithe rocking motion against me. I returned it, grinding against her, letting her feel how hard I was and growled into her mouth. Maybe I’d feel like an asshole later, but my thoughts were completely consumed with how beautiful, magnificent, and gorgeous she was like this, and how beautiful, magnificent, and gorgeous she was going to feel when we fucked.
Either she sensed the direction of my thoughts and liked it, or her mind was moving on a similar track, because her hands reached into my pants and she grabbed my ass, kneading it with greedy fingers. She gasped as I bent my head to taste her throat, one leg hooking around mine.
It was at this moment that I thought I heard someone clear his throat.
It sounded far away.
I ignored it.
Sliding my hand from her back, needing more of her, more softness and heat, I cupped her breast over her dress and groaned again, because she wasn’t wearing a bra. She felt perfect, her nipple hard against my palm. Kat covered my hand with hers, her tongue and mouth ambitious as hell, devouring me with each suck and bite. And then I felt her tug my fingers, encouraging me to slip my hand inside her dress, to touch her without any barriers.
I almost did. I almost fucking did.
But then I felt a goddamn tap on my shoulder.
A. Tap.
On. My. Fucking. Shoulder.
Who the fuck would be tapping me on the shoulder and how the hell did they get in here?
Ready to unleash a world of hurt on this asshole, I tore my mouth from her body, and then I . . .
I blinked.
Steven Thompson, from Cypher Systems, accounting department.
He was glancing between us.
“Time’s up. Mr. Lee has to go,” he said, grinning like an idiot. “But don’t worry, I got the whole thing on video.”
Chapter Eleven
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**Kat**
Stan glanced at us, squinting at our reflections in the rearview mirror, and then away. He appeared equal parts nervous and confused. His discombobulation didn’t surprise me given our behavior since leaving the Cook County Clerk's office and entering the car.
Wait a minute. I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me back up.
Dan and I kissed.
That happened.
Excuse me while I take a moment for an internal squeal of exhilaration.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
By the time Steven interrupted, it would be inaccurate to label what we were doing as a kiss. We were full-on making out. Therefore, Steven’s interruption had been completely appropriate. Not appropriate, however, making out in the officiant’s office at the Downtown Clerk's office.
No.
Not. Appropriate.
Not responsible behavior.
My only defense was that I had truly lost control of myself, starting with the moment Dan revealed his assumption that I was polyamorous—and that was why he’d put on the brakes after Vegas—and ending with Steven’s interruption. Even in this moment, I was still a little high on his touch, a little loose and uninhibited, and a lot avaricious for it to happen again.
Dan seemed able to pull himself together much faster than I could. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he steered us both to Mr. Lee. A profusion of apologies were on the tip of my tongue, but before I could give voice to them, Dan pulled out a wad of cash, handed it over, thanked the officiant for his time, said nothing to Steven, and led the two of us out of the room.
Keeping me tucked to his side, he retrieved his phone, unlocked it, typed something, then shoved it back in his pocket as we walked past the waiting area, the receptionist, metal detector and bag check, the line of people waiting to get in, and through the front door.
He paused on the steps, craning his neck as though searching for something, or someone. Presumably finding what he sought, Dan guided me down the steps and toward a waiting SUV.
The squeal of exhilaration repeated in my head. I hadn’t caught up with, or reconciled, or otherwise successfully moved beyond the kiss.
What did it mean?
That’s easy. He’s into you.
But, what did it mean for the future? And the past?
That left me to sort through all my previous ideas and potential misconceptions about Daniel O’Malley, which had me blurting, “Polyamory?”
He glanced at me as he opened the door to the SUV, giving me his enigmatic smile. “I have an aunt.”
“An aunt?”
He placed his hand on my lower back, precariously close to my bottom as I slid into the back seat. “She’s in the lifestyle. Seems happy.”
Dazed, I scooted to the other side of the bench, allowing Dan plenty of room as he followed me in. Once he closed the door, he looked at me.
I looked at him.
His eyes dropped to my mouth, darkened, and smoldered. That’s right, they freaking smoldered. I’d never had someone smolder in my general direction, or if I had, I hadn’t realized it. But a Dan smolder was impossible to miss and it made my insides feel hot and heavy. It also made me want to climb on his lap and kiss his face off. Based on his smolder, I doubted he’d stop me.
And all of this was very confusing.
How did we get here?
“Where to?” Stan asked from the driver’s seat, breaking my trance and reminding me that we weren’t alone.
“My place.” Dan’s eyes were still on my lips.
My heart twisted—a pang, stretching and flexing—and then began to race.
“Your place?” I glanced between Dan and the back of Stan’s head. “Wait. No. Wait.”
Stan, who’d just flipped on his blinker, flipped it off. “Wait?”
Dan lifted an eyebrow at me. “Wait?”
“Yes. Wait. I need to—I need to think.”
“Okay.” Dan turned to the control console and pressed the button to lift the privacy window.
“No, wait.” I reached over him, knocking his hand out of the way to halt the window’s upward progress.
My position, reaching over his lap, my body pressed to his, our mouths inches apart, registered gradually. Heat spread up my neck. His eyes darkened to almost black.
Smolder.
“Kat.” My name sounded like a purr. “What are you doing?”
“I need a minute.”
“Let me raise the window.” His voice was low again, like he was telling me a dirty secret, and shaded with something else that felt hazardous, but also full of promise. Hazardous promise. Dirty secret.
“No.” I shook my head quickly, my mouth watering for some reason. “I need to think.”
“That’s why I’m going to raise the window.” He titled his head toward the front of the car and in doing so he brought our mouths closer.
You should kiss him, my heart advocated, and soon the recommendation became a chant, Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him.
Holding my gaze, Dan slid his hand atop mine and pressed the button, my heart accelerating further, so the chant sounded more like kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!
I turned my fingers and caught his, stopping the window once again. “I mean,” I whispered, “I meant, I need a minute where we—you and I—aren’t alone.”
His face did this strange and completely adorable thing. First, his eyebrows pulled together as though to frown, but then his mouth hitched as though to smile, and his eyelids drooped as though to increase the smolder. He licked his lips, drawing the bottom one into his mouth, sucking it. Biting it.
That wasn’t adorable. That was indecent. I loved it.
I held my breath while engaging in an internal brawl between myself and myself.
Perhaps I should just let him close the window. What was the worst that could happen? Likely, I’d end up in his lap, straddling him, and maybe we’d have sex in the back seat. That sounded freaking amazing.
Yes. Yes. Do that.
Except.
Except.
Except, what if I couldn’t? What if we started and I froze?
What if I can’t?
I tensed. He must’ve seen something in my features he didn’t like because in the next moment, his smile fell away and he lowered the privacy window.
“Okay,” he said, removing my hand from the control panel and entwining our fingers. “We can drive around, if you want.”
I nodded.
Dan gave me one more long look, like he was trying to read my thoughts.
He turned to Stan. “Drive around.”
“Drive around? Here?”
“Yeah. Here.”
“But it’s rush hour,” Stan grumbled, flipping on his blinker again.
“What? You got someplace to be? Your landlady waiting for you to round out a pinochle foursome?”
Stan’s eyes flickered to me, then back to the road, saying nothing.
“Dan,” I chided, shaking my head at him.
“Yes?” He looked at me, his tone infinitely gentle.
I leaned close, whispering, “Don’t get mad at Stan. It’s not his fault I need a minute. He’s right. It is rush hour. And I guess he should probably just take us to your place so we can talk and he can get home.” I turned to Stan, lifting my voice so he could hear. “I’m sorry, Stan. Please take us to the East Randolph Street property.”
Which brings us back to now and Stan looking at us, squinting at our reflections in the rearview mirror, and then away, equal parts nervous and confused.
I’d attributed this to how we’d been behaving since we left the Clerk's office. But then Dan leaned to the side, drawing my attention back to him.
“Kit-Kat, I’m not mad.” His tone was both soothing and teasing, and he lifted his chin toward Stan. “He really does play pinochle with his landlady on Fridays.” Dan rubbed his thumb
back and forth over the back of my hand and gave me a lop-sided smile.
“Stan plays pinochle?”
“It’s true,” Stan confirmed, meeting my gaze briefly in the rearview mirror. “I dig it.”
“Oh.” I sat back, unsure what to say, so I went with my default. “I’m so sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” I felt Dan’s eyes on me, watchful. He bent to my ear, whispering, “What’s wrong?”
I swallowed once, fighting a tingling shiver caused by his hot breath falling over the sensitive skin of my neck.
I lifted my eyes to his as he drew away. “It’s just, clearly I have trouble reading you. I’m sorry. I thought you were—”
“Giving him a hard time?”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. It’s no big deal.”
He considered me for a few seconds. Actually, we considered each other. And as we did this, I was left with the impression that Dan the Security Man really, really liked looking at me. And that made my blush increase by tenfold, my neck and cheeks hot with both pleasure and self-consciousness.
His voice low, just above a whisper, his eyes smoldering anew, Dan said, “Maybe it’s about time you and I get to know each other better.”
I nodded, trying to smile. “I have a bad habit of assuming the worst, I think.”
His gaze moved to my hair and he threaded his fingers into the strands at my temple, pushing it away from my face. Dan released a soft breath, almost like a contented sigh.
“Come here.” His fingers now on my neck tugged me forward and he pressed my cheek against his chest, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and holding me close to his side. “You think. I’ll be quiet.”
I tried to look at him. Due to the angle at which he held me, I could only see his chin, but I was unwilling to move or readjust myself. Instead, I grabbed his lapel and leaned against him.
It was nice.
It was better than nice.
It was amazing.
He—his body, his warmth, his strength—felt amazing. Plus, he smelled great.
And I couldn’t believe I was leaning against him voluntarily. More precisely, I couldn’t believe I was allowing myself to be held.
