The raw desire in his voice makes me press my thighs together."Are you saying you've got a weak spot for my lips, Grumpy?"
"Oh, you and your sassy mouth have invaded my mind many times."
My alcohol-addled brain short circuits.He thinks about my mouth?He thinks about ME?Before I can stop myself, I'm on my feet, swaying slightly but determined."I need to see you."
I end the call before he can respond, before common sense can kick in.The room spins a little as I grab my keys, but I manage to make it to the elevator.This is such a bad idea.But for once, I don't care.
The ride up to his penthouse is a blur of anticipation and pinot noir courage.When I reach his floor, I find myself leaning against the wall opposite his door, trying to steady my racing heart.What am I doing?
Before I can answer that question, before I can talk myself out of it, I knock.The sound seems too loud in the quiet hallway.
The door opens and—oh sweet baby Jesus—he's standing there in low-slung sweatpants and nothing else.My eyes drink in the sight of him: broad shoulders, sculpted chest, those abs that have starred in my dreams.When I finally drag my gaze up to his face, his eyes are midnight dark.
"Shouldn't you be in bed?"His voice is gravel and silk.
I push myself away from the wall, swaying slightly as I move toward him.My eyes are locked on his chest, watching the way his muscles tense as I approach.The wine makes me bold, makes me want.
"I need an answer, Cole," I purr, my voice coming out sultry despite my spinning head.My hand reaches out, trailing over his abdomen.The contact makes us both inhale sharply.His skin is hot, like touching a live wire.
He lets out a rough sound—half groan, half warning—as my fingers explore higher, tracing each defined muscle.When I reach his chest, I can feel his heart hammering under my palm.
"Alisha..."My name sounds like a prayer and a curse on his lips.
I push up on my toes, my balance slightly off but my determination strong."Stop thinking so much," I whisper, my lips inches from his.His scent—citrus and pure male—makes my head spin more than the wine.Or maybe it's both.Maybe it's everything about him.
His hands grip the doorframe, knuckles white with restraint."You're drunk."
"Tipsy," I correct, my fingers finding the nape of his neck.His hair is soft against my skin."But I've wanted to do this since before the first glass of wine."
I watch his control crack, see the moment his resistance crumbles in his eyes.Like a predator finally unleashed, he pulls me against him.The heat of his bare chest burns through my thin top.
"Last chance to walk away," he growls, but his hands betray him, one sliding to my lower back, the other tangling in my hair.
Instead of answering, I close the distance between us.The first touch of his lips against mine is electric, sending sparks through my wine-hazed brain.He tastes better than I imagined—like mint and man and something uniquely Cole.
For a heartbeat, he stays still, letting me lead.Then something snaps.His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him with a moan that would embarrass me if I were sober.He deepens the kiss, andholy hell—this is what drowning must feel like.Drowning in sensation, in want, in Cole.
His hands tighten, pulling me closer as his tongue explores my mouth.I can feel every hard plane of his body pressed against my softer curves.The kiss turns hungry, desperate, like we're both trying to devour each other.My fingers dig into his shoulders, needing an anchor in this storm of sensation.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, I pull back.His taste, his touch, his everything—it's too much.Too intense.Too real.My lips tingle, my whole body hums, and my drunk brain can't process the magnitude of what just happened.
I step away, watching his eyes flash with something dark and hungry.His chest rises and falls rapidly, matching my own ragged breathing.Before he can say anything, before I can change my mind and throw myself back into his arms, I turn toward the elevator.
"Goodnight, Bulldozer," I manage to mumble, proud that I only stumble slightly as I walk away.
I hear him groan, followed by the solid thud of his head hitting the doorframe.The sound of frustration, of want, of restraint—it follows me into the elevator, mixing with the memory of his kiss and the lingering effects of the wine.
What have I done?
* * *
Cole
Breathe.Calm the fuck down.
My forehead rests against the doorframe, the cool surface doing nothing to ease the fire raging through my body.My free hand grips the baluster until my knuckles turn white, trying to ground myself in something solid, something real.But all I can feel is the ghost of her touch on my skin, the taste of wine and want on my tongue.
Her words echo in my head: "I get so fucking horny whenever I'm around you."Christ.That confession, delivered in her wine-loosened voice, released a burst of hormones that are still racing through my veins like wildfire.The way she admitted to being aroused this morning—it makes my already painful erection strain against my sweats.
