Page 23 of Only the Wicked
“That’s not necessary. The inn is safe and I can take care of myself.” She smiles, but I can’t help feeling that she’s teasing.
I make a show of leaning back to eye her scraped knee, which I can’t see as it’s covered by her dress, but she gets my point. “Are you sure about that?” Her grin widens. “I’d feel so much better if I saw you safely to your door.”
Her eyes narrow into slits. It’s the wide smile and the coquettish tilt of her head that lets me know I’m headed upstairs.
“Eagle Scout, remember? Southern gentleman.”
“Is Charlotte really part of the south?”
What did she read about the Queen City? “It borders South Carolina. I’d say that’s southern by any definition.”
She releases a dramatic sigh and says, “Okay southern boy, see me home.”
We don’t travel far before she stops at her door. We’re the only two in the hall.
“This is me.”
“You’re not inviting me in?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to come in.”
I open my mouth to argue. “Oh, I?—”
“It’s my time of the month.”
Oh. Disappointment strikes like a rogue wave. That’s why she spent so long in the bathroom. It clicks.
Damn.
My gaze falls to her lips. There’s nothing more awkward than asking for a kiss, but… “A goodnight kiss?” I raise both eyebrows, playfully hopeful.
She twists her body and steps closer, bending her head to look up at me, offering her lips. Her fingers fall to my chest and I swear her touch singes my skin. My hand finds its way to the curve of her lower back. Her eyelids flicker closed and her lips open slightly. My heart thuds unusually hard, the reverberations noticeable.
It’s just a kiss, Rhodes.
My lips press to hers and a warm buzzing sensation spreads over my extremities as our lips brush lightly, once. Twice. My fingers rise to her nape, tangling with her silky strands, and I gently angle her head.
She opens and I deepen the kiss, consuming sweet hints of our lemony dessert that fuel a desire for more. Her body presses against mine and my hand on her lower back glides lower, over her bottom, pressing her into me.
Fuck. I want her.
This woman can kiss. I love how her tongue flirts with mine, how her breasts feel pressed against my chest, the pressure of her against my now very hard erection.
Voices mingle and footsteps sound.
She breaks the kiss, breathless, lips over her mouth, eyeing me through her lashes with a timid smile.
An older couple pass us in the hall.
“You two make a lovely couple,” the elderly woman says. I cut my gaze to them as they pass in time to see her husband pat her on her butt, likely telling her to keep walking.
Sydney sinks her teeth into her lower, glistening lip.
We share a confessional grin.
“I mean, I guess you could come inside. We could have a drink.”
I’m not interested in alcohol. “There are other things we could do.”
