Copyright © 2013 Erin Nicholas
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication
“You know…” Her gaze went to his lips and she felt the very familiar hot flush of desire. The things he could do with those lips should come with a warning label. “I had specifically planned on not kissing you in here tonight.”
“Is that right?” His hands curled into her hips and his attention focused on her mouth as well. “Why is that?”
“Because it never ends with kissing.”
Even the kissing was enough to make her willing and able to keep the part of her life away from him that she was afraid would turn him off. And the other stuff that the kissing led to… Well, she had no problem understanding why she’d kept up the act.
And if the sex was enough to inspire her façade, then everything else he was and did was enough to convince her she could keep it up long term.
Until she was away from him again.
He was like a drug. When they were together it all felt good and right and doable. When they were apart, she’d remember that this was never going to work long term.
“Do you want it to?”
Her gaze flickered back to his. What were they talking about? Oh, yeah, the kissing thing. “We never just kiss,” she said. “The first night we went out we had sex.”
His voice was a little gruff when he said, “I remember.” He pulled her even closer. “I also remember that you initiated the entire thing.”
She couldn’t deny it. The entire night had felt like foreplay. Which was a little crazy and a lot dangerous. They’d been at Trudy’s. Like they had been dozens of times before. They hadn’t even been there together. He’d asked her, for the third time, if she’d go out with him. She’d said no. Then he’d gotten up on the karaoke stage with Ryan and Cody and sung “Just a Gigolo” by David Lee Roth. There was something about him—the confidence, the big grin, the way he not only had a great time wherever he was but made sure everyone around him had a great time, something—that drew her in. She’d fought it to that point but after he left the stage, she’d asked him to dance. From there she was a goner.
“I remember too,” she admitted.
Shane lifted a hand and traced the neckline of her top, his finger sliding along the top swells of her breasts. “When you pushed me up against the side of my car in the parking lot and laid that first sexy kiss on me I was willing to beg for more on hands and knees. But I wasn’t about to suggest sex on the first date with a classy woman like Isabelle Dixon,” he said.
Classy. She’d quickly shown him her opposite side to that persona. “You didn’t have to suggest it, did you?” she asked, memories shifting through her mind like a kaleidoscope.
He chuckled. “No, I certainly didn’t. And trust me, I was very pleasantly surprised by the dirty mind and mouth behind the polished, sophisticated front you put on.”
Yep, she’d already shown him a little of her talent for switching personalities. And he’d been pleasantly surprised because it had gotten him laid. Well. Three times that night.
He lifted his hand to cup the back of her head and pulled her closer until their lips were a mere millimeter apart. She was a good six inches shorter than him, but she usually wore heels that put her at exactly the right height for things like dancing and kissing and for him to put her up against the wall, hike up her skirt and drive deep.
She wore skirts and thongs a lot when she was with Shane. For those very reasons.
“You want me to just kiss you, Iz? I can be happy with that.”
“You sure?” Her hand slid up the back of his neck and into his hair. He wore it longer than most of the cops, but he didn’t get any crap about it. She loved the way she could thread her fingers through it and grip it when he kissed her—wherever he was kissing her.
“Very sure,” he said softly. Then his mouth met hers.
They’d kissed in every way there was to kiss. Soft and sweet, hot and heavy, long and delicious, all over each other’s body. This was a combination of all of those and then some.
His mouth moved against hers, lip to lip, for a long time. He’d press, then retreat, change angles, open slightly, lick along her bottom lip, then back off and softly kiss the corners of her mouth.
Shane lifted his hands to her cheeks, cupping her face, holding her still. Then he kissed her forehead, her nose, her chin, the side of her neck, then returned to her lips.
Isabelle sighed against his mouth.
“I could do this all night,” he muttered against her lips. “So many places to put my mouth.”
“Thought we were kissing only,” she managed breathlessly.
“Well, French kissing is kissing. And trust me, honey, I can French kiss you in lots and lots of places.”
She started to respond, but then he turned up the heat. He moved one hand to the back of her head, the other to her thigh, lifting it, pulling her close and holding her there, then he opened his mouth on hers, stroking his tongue in possessively.
This time she moaned.
The deep, hot kiss went on and on. Isabelle felt her whole body respond. Wet and hot and tingly. All over. Her scalp prickled, her nipples tightened, her stomach felt warm and everything below that was…all of the above.
She gripped the front of his shirt and arched harder against him, wishing they were naked, wishing she had worn her four-inch heels instead of the two-inch tonight.
God, she needed him.
She slipped a hand between them, running her hand over the hard bulge behind his zipper.
He released her so suddenly she stepped back.
“Whoa girl. I’m tryin’ to be good here. Show you I can do some vanilla kissing.”
That was vanilla kissing? Yeah, right. “I changed my mind,” she said, reaching for him.
He held his hands up and shook his head. “No way, babe. You wanted just kissing. I’m just kissing.”
“I want more than just kissing. Come on, Shane.” She stepped close and grabbed him by the shirt again. “You never say no to me.”
“Until now.” He gripped her wrist gently, but she knew she wouldn’t get her hand free until he let her go. “I’m gonna pass this test, Iz. I’m gonna pass all your tests.” He leaned closer until they were nose to nose. “I want you to move in with me. I want to be with you. I’ll have vanilla sex and play checkers. I’ll keep my hands completely to myself and make dinner for you every night. Or—” he leaned in close again, “—I’ll rock your frickin’ world as often, as hard and as loudly as you’ll let me.” He settled back on his heels. “It’s up to you.”
Isabelle stared at him, her heart pounding, heat swirling through her body. “Yes,” she finally said. “Yes. That last one. Right now.”
He touched his finger to her nose. “I’m gonna do this, Iz. Pretty soon you’ll be moving your panties into the top drawer of my dresser and wondering why you ever even thought to resist.”