God, this was weird. So…transactional. “I thought we’d already hit it off.”
She stood and leaned over the table. The neck of her tank dipped, and the hint of ink teased his gaze. Miranda tipped his head back with a knuckle under his chin. She eased close. Her lips parted. Instead of kissing him, she ran the tip of her nose down his. The move made his breath catch. Made his stomach lift. Her lips hovered over his as she feathered her fingers across his jaw, leaving fire on his skin.
There were moments in life that lived vividly in Jack’s memory. Some big, like holding his nephews for the first time or earning an award for excellence in architecture. Some small, like a surprise birthday party or attending the Stanley Cup.
Jack knew this magical moment would stay with him for a long time.
“Feel that?” Her quiet words barely registered.
He managed a lust-drunk “Been feeling it since I first looked at you.”
“You’re right. We have already hit it off.” She pressed the faintest whisper of a kiss to his lips.
Hunger struck Jack like a lightning bolt, sharp and hot. He slid his hand around the back of her head, tilted his own and deepened the kiss. He felt the surety of their connection like a snap in his chest. A solid, certain knowing this wasn’t just right, but somehow fated. Destined. The right woman, the right place, the right time.
He could laugh at his romanticizing in the morning. Right now, he needed this. Needed her. He gently pulled her lower lip between his, sipping her taste. Sultry. Illicit. Delicious.
She murmured before easing back. Her lids were heavy, her eyes soft. “Hold that thought, Jack. I’m going to grab my things.”
He watched her wind around tables, swing a jacket and purse out from underneath the bar, and say goodbye to her coworkers. Jack still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. But she returned to him with bright eyes and a sexy smile. She took his hand and led him out of the bar.
The spring night still held a cold nip, sobering Jack a little. He’d stopped drinking hours ago, so he wasn’t even buzzed, but she had a way of making his head light. Pausing a few feet from the door, he pulled her jacket from her and shook it open for her. It took her a second to turn and slip her arms in. When she did, he caught the glimpse of a little more ink on one shoulder.
Her hands closed over his, and she drew his arms around her from behind. Jack stepped into place as if he’d done it a hundred times. He moved his hands down her arms, around her waist, and pulled her body up against his. She was slim but strong, and he lowered his lips to her shoulder as he ran his hands across her flat stomach. The faint scent of flowers and musk lifted with the heat of her body.
Sweet mother of God, she felt amazing.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a man hold my jacket for me before.” Her words were soft, a little mesmerized, as if it was also the first time she realized no man had ever held her jacket before.
“I hope I continue to surprise you.” He kissed her neck. Her jaw. The sweet spot behind her ear. “How many tattoos do you have?”
She turned her head and flashed a flirty smile over her shoulder. “You’ll find out soon enough, won’t you?”
The prospect shot a thrill through his veins. He released her and pulled on his own jacket.
A little laugh ebbed from her throat and she ran her hands over the front of his light wool coat. “Oh, you are so New York. Never thought I’d find that so sexy.”
“Maybe you’re seeing the born-and-bred Tennessean beneath.”
“I do love hearing that drawl slide through your voice.”
“Wait until I’ve been here a week. All traces of New York will be history.”
She laughed. “Oh, I doubt that.”
He was starting to feel like he’d found solid ground again. These unfamiliar transitions made him a little crazy, but he could see the road laid out ahead of him now, and a level of confidence returned. One benefit of never staying with one woman long was learning how to please all types of women. And he looked forward to thrilling this one.
He reached up and eased her hair from the collar of her jacket. Soft, silky, thick. He wanted his hands in it all night. Images of just how he’d like to manage that filled his mind, and blood pounded his groin.
“I like those dirty thoughts drifting through your eyes.” She took his hand and started down the street toward his hotel.
He looked over his shoulder, scanning the parking lot. “Is your car here? Do you want to move it to the hotel?”
“Focus, Jack.”
Trucks and cars still peppered the lot. Customers lingered, talking, laughing, kissing. “I don’t want you walking back on your own—”
Miranda stepped into his path. He grabbed her arms, barely stopping short of walking into her. She gripped the edges of his open jacket, made a quick turn, and pushed him back against a brick wall.