She laughs, full and real, the sound crackling straight through me like a match to a fuse.
“So…” she purrs, body angled into mine, her fingers lazily tracing down my arm. “I’m assuming you’re a boob girl?”
No, I’m a you girl.
I smirk. “Nah, I’m an everything girl.” I toss her a wink, and she snorts into her cup, nearly choking on her drink.
“What are you drinking,everything girl?” she teases, nodding toward my empty hand.
“Beer. Where’s the cooler?”
She jerks her chin to the corner of the kitchen. “Right there. Next to the microwave.”
I step over, pop the lid off a cheap Styrofoam cooler, and fish out a cold one. I crack it open with the edge of the counter and take a long sip before turning back to her with a grin.
“So,” I say, lifting the bottle slightly. “I won the bet. What do I get?”
She grins—slow, shameless, and dangerous—eyes dragging over me like she’s already decided what part of me to unwrap first.
“I don’t know,” she says, leaning in close. “What do youwant?”
God help me, I might actually melt.
“Your name.”
She fans herself with one hand like a dramatic Southern belle, her hip cocking just enough to make my breath catch. “Well, what agentlemanyou are.”
I shake my head, letting my eyes trail down her body and back up through my lashes. “Nah, not really…I’m a dog.”
“Oh, really?” she purrs, stepping in until there’s barely a breath between us.
I nod with an exaggerated pout and a crooked grin. “Oh yeah. Total horndog. I just like to know a girl’s name before I marry her.”
“And they say chivalry is dead.”
“I’m the last of a dying breed, girl,” I whisper, letting the words brush against her lips. “Now… what’s your name?”
Her eyes flick down to my mouth, then slowly back up. Her breath is shallow, warm against my skin. “I’m Brooke du Pont.”
“Jasmine,” I say softly, already curling a hand around her waist, dragging her flush against my chest. “Jasmine Rivera.”
Her cup drops somewhere to the floor with a quietthud.
Brooke’s mouth crashes into mine, warm and hungry, her lips soft but commanding. I open for her instantly, letting her tongue slide against mine as the kiss deepens, wet and breathless. She tastes like cheap beer and cinnamon, and I can’t get enough.
Her hands grip the back of my head, pulling me closer, and I stumble a step forward, pinning her lightly against the counter. One of her legs slides between mine, thigh pressing up just enough to make my breath hitch.
I let one hand roam—fingertips skimming the curve of her waist, the dip of her lower back—while my other hand holds her jaw steady as we kiss harder, deeper. She moans into my mouth and I swear it shoots straight through me.
Her hand slides down, palm curving over my ass with a firm squeeze.
I pull back just enough to whisper, breath hot between us, “Maybe buy me dinner first?”
She grins, breathless. “I thought we were getting married.”
I smile and kiss her again—rougher this time.
“That’s right, babydoll.” I growl into her, my hands snaking around her sexy thighs and hoisting her on top of the kitchen counter. “Get used to being mine.”
