Page 41 of Loverboy
“Yes, you did,” he says with a smile. “But sometimes in life you have to go off recipe.”
“I can do that,” I protest. “Sometimes.”
“Uh huh,” he says. “Then show me. Go off recipe right now.”
His smile is teasing me, and I’m not sure that I like it. “I don't even know what you mean.”
“Here, let me give you a demonstration.” Then the jerk leans in and kisses me without warning. As if kissing at a street corner was a perfectly ordinary thing to do.
But I’m not prepared for the multisensory assault known as a kiss from Gunnar Scott. Soft lips glide over mine, before firming into a slow press. The scrape of stubble gives me goosebumps. And the tilt of his head makes me sigh.
Fifteen years have passed, but my body lights up, anyway. Nothing has changed at all between us. He's still the overconfident playboy who’s busily deepening our kiss with an expert’s attention to pressure and pleasure. And I'm still the confused but hopeful girl who doesn’t quite know how to handle a sudden wave of yearning right here on a SoHo street corner.
Raising a hand to his shirt, I try to steady myself against the erotic assault on my central nervous system. But that only makes things worse, because my palm meets the steely heat of his chest. I can’t help but lean in, asking for more. He tastes like gin and naughty thoughts.
Then his hand clasps the center of my back, reeling me in. And now I'm completely over my head, unable to process two miracles at the same time: his tongue sliding into my mouth, and his hard body pressed against mine.
He leans in, moving faster now, turning the kiss into a seductive dance. I lose track of the car horns and the people walking past us to the next bar. I’m so completely in the moment that I forget to hold onto my sister's book. It drops to the sidewalk with a loud smack.
The mood is broken. I jerk backwards, blinking from the sudden shock of headlights in the intersection, as well as my own confusion.
Gunnar chuckles. He leans down to snatch the book off the sidewalk. Still frozen in place, I don’t take it from his hand. I’m reeling with the terrible knowledge that Gunnar's street corner kiss was one of the top two sexual experiences of my life.
And the other one? His kiss fifteen years ago.
“Come on, Paxton,” he says, slipping a hand into mine. “Let’s get you home. I’ve got big plans for you.”
Wowzers. I don’t know how many cycles the traffic light went through while I was lip-locked to Gunnar. But now it invites us to cross.
With my palm pressed to Gunnar’s we cross the street. I'm afraid to speak, because whatever I find to say will sound like begging. Because I need more of those kisses. I needeverything. I’m not nineteen anymore. There’s no reason for me to hold back.
Except nerves, of course. If Gunnar Scott looks me in the eye and tells me I’m no fun in bed, I’ll die of embarrassment.
“Still thinking too hard, Paxton,” he says. “What did we just talk about?”
“You don’tknowthat,” I sputter. But I am so busted. “It could beanything. It could be seventeen ways to remove your clothing. With my teeth.”
“I rest my case,” he says, stroking my palm with one naughty thumb. “That sounds overly complicated. I only need one or two ways to rip off your clothes. Three at most,” he says.
“At most?” I echo weakly. Because now I’m picturing Gunnar’s hands on my body. And I like that picture. A lot.
“And I probably won’t use my teeth, because I’m not a patient man tonight.” He turns his head to let his eyes wander down my body. I feel his gaze like a physical touch.
“Impatient. Got it,” I babble. I’ve never had the kind of hasty sex that requires hurling clothing in all directions. That sounds exciting, plus it will leave less time for me to feel self-conscious.
We stop at one more street corner. My building is already in view across the way. “So, just to be clear, I’m coming upstairs for a really sinful—” he smiles at me “—dessert?”
Gulp. “I see what you did there.”
“Well?” His eyes darken, and his thumb takes another slow sweep of my palm. Shivers climb up my arm and zing everywhere inside me. “What’s it going to be?”
Pie and then dirty, dirty sex!my hormones shout.
I would have said this aloud, or some version of it. But I don’t get a chance. Because the next thing I hear is the unmistakable sound of a plate glass window breaking.
12
Gunnar
