Frenzied now, thinking only of tasting her, having her, he used his teeth to tug the bodice aside, exposing the curve of her breast. With one hand, he cupped her, his thumb teasing her nipple as his tongue tasted her heated skin. As his lips burned from the contact, and his cock hardened to steel.
"Sugar," he murmured, then immediately knew that it was the wrong thing to say because her finge
rs released his hair and the hand that was tugging on his shirt to pull him closer now pushed him away as she nimbly shifted sideways and free of him.
"We can't," she said, breathing hard as she stood only inches from him. Then she reached for him, and for a moment he thought that she'd changed her mind, but all she was doing was flipping a light switch, filling the room with the bright glow of incandescent light.
He swallowed, his eyes taking in the picture of her. Hair mussed, lipstick smeared, and her dress so askew that he could see the exposed brown tint of her areolae. He wanted to rip the dress off and see more of her. All of her. And at the same time, he wanted to take it slow and undress her little by little, as if he were unwrapping the most fragile of presents.
Slowly, he stepped toward her, but she held up a hand, keeping him at bay.
"We can't," she repeated. "I have to change. I have to get to Blacklist."
She turned, presumably to head toward her bedroom, but he grabbed her hand, pulling her back.
"Don't go."
"I have to. Work. Job. It's what I do."
"You're working until closing?" He asked, and when she nodded, continued with, "What is that, four hours? Five?"
"Yeah. So?"
"I'll pay you five hundred an hour," he said, then pressed a finger to her lips before she could protest. "And not for sex. But for your time. That's a hell of a lot more than your hourly wage plus tips."
"Lyle," she said when he let her speak. "I can't."
"You're facing foreclosure, Sugar. You need the money."
"I do. I really do." She drew in a breath, then exhaled noisily. "But I still can't. No," she continued, cutting off his protest. "It's not about the money. Late night on a Saturday? David's relying on me to work. I'm not going to leave him in a jam at the last minute."
"Right," he said, frustrated at being denied, but relieved that it wasn't about desire, but responsibility. "Get changed. I'll drive you." And maybe while she changed he could take a quick cold shower. Or go outside and douse himself with the garden hose.
"It's okay." She met his eyes, then looked away as if shy or uncertain. "I like to walk."
He nodded slowly. "Okay. Fine. I'll walk with you."
"You don't--"
"It's late."
"I do it all the time."
"And tonight, you'll do it with me." He flashed a mega-watt smile. "You can tell me to go to hell, but the sidewalks are open and free, and either way I'm shadowing you to Blacklist."
She quirked a brow, though he wasn't sure if she was amused or irritated. "Fine. Suit yourself. I'll be right back." She pointed toward the kitchen. "Make yourself at home. And grab me a Diet Coke for the road, please."
Since a cold shower wasn't on the agenda, he downed two glasses of ice water, then met her back in the living room with her soda. This time, there was a tabby cat sitting at her feet, looking at him with jealous green eyes.
"Skittles, meet Lyle. Lyle, this is Skittles."
He bent, extending his fingers, and the cat came over to sniff. "Hey, buddy," he said, then scratched Skittles behind the ears, eliciting a satisfied purr.
"Well," Sugar said. "I guess you pass that test."
He grinned up at her, more pleased than he should be by winning the cat's approval.
And speaking of approval, she looked great. She'd changed out of the slinky dress, of course, but he thought she looked just as sexy in skinny jeans, black Converse sneakers, and a black T-shirt embroidered with the Blacklist logo.