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But a moment later, we’re standing next to the table, a few feet apart, each waiting for the other to call our bluffs.

The song switches over to a song considerably sexier than the last.

“Okay, well, I need to warm up first.” I pick up one of the tequila glasses, which we set down on the end table with the lime juice bottle before setting up the room. “Where’s your salt?”

“Right here.” Eli bends down and picks the saltshaker off the floor. This makes me laugh again, but I take it from him, trying not to shiver at the brush of his fingers against mine as he passes it to me.

I don’t break eye contact as I lick the top of my hand holding the tequila glass. I sprinkle salt on it, hesitate, then lick that off next, going slower this time.

Eli makes a grumbling sort of sound, his eyes on my tongue.

I toss back my tequila, wincing at the burn.

Then I squirt the concentrated lime juice in my mouth right after, which doesn’t really help.

I make a face. “Blech. I remember why I don’t drink this.”

“Not even margaritas?”

I bite my lip. “Okay, except those.”

He grins, then throws his tequila back. He doesn’t even blink. “Delicious.”

“You forgot the saltandthe lime!”

“Right.” He takes the lime juice from me and does a shot of that too. “UGH!” he exclaims, puckering harder than I did with the tequila.

“Oh my God, Eli!” I say, nearly wheezing.

“That’s torture!” he says, gagging.

“You want to stop?”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand then meets my eye. “Not a chance.”

I’m warmed up now, edging on tipsy. So I set my glass down on the end table again and without pausing, slip my arms into my shirt and pull it over my head.

“Fuck,” Eli says. “Reese…”

I wore a black lace bra tonight, rather than my usual sports bra I wear for work. I also showered and shaved and put on a few drops of perfume I haven’t touched in years.

I knew what I was coming over here for.

“You sure this table is going to hold me?”

“Yes. Restoration Hardware.”

I laugh, but before I can finish, Eli’s there, his hands sliding onto my bare waist. He’s so close I can smell him, the heady mix of his clean laundry-Eli scent and the tequila making me want to drop the rest of my clothes, body shot be damned. I rest my arms on his shoulders, and he bends his neck, taking my lips with his.

The heat I felt before is fire now, roaring through my veins. His tongue searches me, flicking across the roof of my mouth in a way that only makes me think of how it would feel lower.

I whimper when he breaks the kiss, but I don’t resist as his hand slides up my back, and he tips me back onto the table.

The strains of some sensual lo-fi song comes through his speaker, and a shiver goes through me at the contrast of the cold table at my back and the heat burning inside me.

“On the show everyone’s wearing far less clothing,” he says, and before I know what’s happening, I tip my face up to see Eli’s slipped his tie off, then his shirt, in one quick pull over his head.

Heat surges between my legs at both the thought and the sight of him standing there, his hard body straight-up sex appeal in male form. His torso is ridged all the way down to that tight V that disappears into the waist of his sexy-as-fuck suit pants.