Page 36 of His Hot Mess

“Nothing,” I said. “Nothing at all.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later,I’d finished another beer. I was definitely tipsy now and knew I’d better slow down.

I wasn’t the big partier my sister thought I was back in the city. Compared to some of my friends, and especially a couple of my former colleagues in the restaurant industry who didn’t sleep on the regular until the sun was up for the day, I was a lightweight.

Still, overdoing it was not on New Sadie’s list. I needed to eat something.

After downing a hamburger, I still wasn’t completely clear-headed. I needed water. I made my way to the back door, excusing myself as I slipped through the crowd of people on the deck and through the door into the kitchen.

Though the thud of music on the speakers and burble of conversation poured in through the open patio door, it still felt quieter in the empty room. Calmer. I poured myself a glass of water and drank half of it before heading to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. I turned down the dark hallway and slammed straight into a hard body.

I tumbled back, nearly falling, letting out a gasp as a broad hand reached out, grabbed my dress at the waist and pulled me up to keep me from landing on my ass. For a moment, I hovered in mid-air, looking up at Chris’s shadowed face.

Then a loud rip sounded and I almost fell again before his hands caught me around my sides. He jerked me up against his chest.

Though I was at no risk of falling now, his hands didn’t move. They were solid; their warmth searing my skin—on one side, through the fabric of my dress. On the other, directly on bare skin where my dress had torn. For a moment I didn’t move, just pressed my hands against the hard surface of his chest, inhaling that now-familiar pine-sweat scent, my fingers clutching the worn fabric of his t-shirt.

Swirls of heat ran down my back in tight spirals, unfurling at the base of my spine.

Then I got my head together. What was I doing? I pushed off of Chris’s body and looked down at myself. A rent went up the side of my favorite vintage ‘90s dress, exposing a long swath of skin from the side of my bra down to the hem of my underwear.

Which Chris’s hand was still on.

“You tore my dress!” I whispered.

Chris was staring at his hands still on my waist. He ran a circle with his thumb across my bare skin, under my lowermost rib. A shiver ran through me that was so strong I blinked, suddenly lightheaded.

But I made no move to step away from him.

“You ran into me,” he said, his voice low and hoarse.

“You were blocking the hallway,” I breathed.

His hand moved lower, brushing against my hip.

I held my breath, my heart thumping harder. The feel of his rough thumb against the dip of skin next to my hip was even more intoxicating than his smell. I felt as if I was burning up from the inside, everything turning molten.

Chris pulled me towards him then, hard and fast. His hand slid around the back of my head, pulling my face towards his. He drew himself to a stop when his lips were only millimeters away from mine, as if he didn’t want to be the one to do it.

To kiss me.

Fine then. I would. I closed the distance between us, pressing my lips against his.

I thought I had things under control, but when our lips touched and his tongue danced against mine I lost the use of my knees completely, falling into him. Chris backed up, hitting the wall hard, his fingers tangled in my hair, my arms locking around his neck. His hands shifted, sliding under my thighs and lifting me up. I wrapped my legs around him.

Any promises I’d made to myself, any admonitions—all of them fell to the floor, shattering behind us as we staggered to the bathroom, crashing through the door. The music outside thrummed in my ears, the beat keeping time with my heart as Chris lowered me onto the cool, hard counter, kicking the door closed behind him.

“Sadie…” he said, just the single word, the two syllables of my name.

I leaned back as he pushed my dress up my thighs, gripping the flesh of my legs with an intensity that made my whole body feel as if it were made of live wire.

And then he kissed me again.

I wanted him. More than anyone I’d wanted before, and in a completely different way. I’d been gripped by lust before, wanting to kiss someone, wanting to jump into bed with them.

But I’d never beenconsumedwith need the way I was now.

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