“What? I’m just making conversation.” I grinned at him, suddenly feeling bold and reckless and completely unconcerned with who might be watching. “Perfectly innocent conversation about your perfectly innocent hands.”
“There’s nothing innocent about the way you’re looking at me right now,” he said, his voice dropping to that gravelly tone that made my knees weak.
“Yeah? How am I looking at you?” I demanded, letting my own voice go deep with want.
Alex appeared beside us again, this time with the wine flight. “Okay, kids, let’s try to get through this tasting before you scandalize my other customers.”
But even the wine—a selection of local vintages paired with artisanal chocolates and cheese—couldn’t distract me from the way Maddox kept finding excuses to touch me. Adjusting my collar for the camera. Brushing crumbs from my lip. Letting his hand linger on my thigh while explaining the tasting notes for the video.
Each touch sent heat shooting through me, and by the time we reached the whiskey flight, I was having troubleconcentrating on anything except the way his lips moved when he spoke.
“This one’s a local rye,” Alex explained, setting down amber glasses. “Distilled just outside town. Very smooth, with notes of vanilla and oak.”
Even though by now, everything had taken on a slightly blurry quality, I dutifully took a sip and made appreciative noises for the camera, but what I was really appreciating was the way Maddox’s eyes had gone dark and heavy-lidded. He was watching my mouth like he wanted to devour it, and the knowledge sent liquid heat pooling in my belly.
“Very smooth,” I agreed, licking my lips slowly. “I like things that go down easy.”
Maddox nearly choked on his whiskey. “Jesus, Adrian.”
“What? I’m talking about the alcohol.” I batted my eyelashes at him. “What did you think I was talking about?”
The look he gave me was affectionate and warm, which made me restless and hot as fuck.
Maddox leaned closer. I closed my eyes in anticipation of the kiss, but it never came. Instead, his voice slid into my ear. “Baby, we need to go. You’re elegantly hammered.”
I licked my lips in search of the taste of him, but instead, all I found was cab sav. “Mm. Will you let me taste you at home?”
His eyes heated, and when his words came out, they were soft like I wasn’t the only drunk here. “You may taste any and every part of me as much as you want. I promise. Let’s get out of here.”
Maddox and I gathered our things with the exaggerated care of people who were definitely too drunk to be trusted with expensive equipment. I kept getting distracted by the way his jeans hugged his ass when he bent over to pack up the camera and had to grip the edge of the table to steady myself.
“You okay there?” he asked, straightening up to find me staring.
“I’m great,” I said honestly. “Better than great. I’m fantastic. Except you’re moving too slow.”
“I’m not the one standing and staring at people’s asses,” he said with a smirk.
I stepped closer, close enough to smell his cologne mixed with whiskey and the faint scent of sawdust that always clung to his clothes. “If you could see your ass right now, you might understand.”
His eyes went molten. “Start walking, Hayes.”
The walk back to Maddox’s place was an exercise in self-control that we both failed spectacularly. We kept nipping at and teasing each other before I finally pulled him into the doorway of Sullivan Hardware and kissed him like the world was ending. He tasted like whiskey and honey and something that was purely Maddox, and I couldn’t get enough.
“Adrian,” he groaned against my mouth, his hands fisting in my jacket. “People can see us.”
“Don’t care,” I mumbled, nipping at his lower lip. “Let them see. Let them all know you’re mine.”
That seemed to break the last of his resistance. He spun us around, pressing me against the door, and kissed me with a hunger that made my knees buckle. His hands were everywhere—my hair, my face, sliding under my jacket to find warm skin.
“We need to get upstairs,” he said raggedly, pulling back just enough to speak. “Before our next video goes viral for the wrong reasons.”
We stumbled the rest of the way around to the back entrance, stopping twice more for heated kisses against lampposts and storefronts. By the time we made it up the stairs to his door, my lips were swollen, and my hair was a mess, and I was pretty suremy jeans were going to leave permanent marks from how tight they’d gotten.
Maddox fumbled with his keys, cursing under his breath as his hands shook. I pressed against his back, unable to keep from touching him, my hands sliding around his waist to feel the warm muscle of his stomach through his shirt.
“You’re not helping,” he said, but he leaned back into me anyway.
“I’m not trying to help,” I murmured against his neck. “I’m trying to get in your fucking pants.”
