Page 18 of Into These Eyes

“Oh!” she says, turning to me with sudden excitement. “That reminds me of something.”

“What’s that?” I reluctantly ask before I open the door.

She squints against the dim light cast by the overhead lamp as I offer her my hand. Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, she sighs heavily. “Now I can’t remember.”

Good. I already know why she hated me. But after her father’s confession, I’d hoped she’d changed her mind.

Taking my hand, she clumsily extracts herself from the car, trips on the kerb and falls hard against me. I hold her tight and shut the door. A few steps into our journey toward the welcoming porchlight, she stumbles again, almost twisting her ankle in those crazy heels she’s wearing.

Sweeping her off her feet, I realise my mistake too late when she snuggles in tight and presses her face into the side of my neck.

“Mmmm,” she murmurs, “you smell so good.”

“Where’s your keys, Jamie?” I ask, barely able to form words as I take the three steps up to her porch.

Keeping an arm slung around my neck, she pulls her purse into her lap. With fumbling fingers, she undoes the clasp, digs out a small bunch of keys and dangles them in front of my face.

“I’ll need to set you down,” I tell her.

“No. I don’t think I can stand up,” she grumbles, pouting her bottom lip. It takes everything I have not to pull it into my mouth and nip it.

“Then how do we get the door open?”

Grinning, she forces the keys into my hand gripping her thigh. I awkwardly hold her while I separate one key from the rest. Bending a little, I fumble around until the key slides into the lock. But it doesn’t turn

As I feel for the next key, she presses her face into my neck and makes no secret of the fact that she’s inhaling my scent again.

“Do you taste as good as you smell?” she mumbles.

Before the words even sink in, her lips brush my skin. I freeze.

“Hmm … salty,” she whispers in my ear.

Trying to ignore my body’s reaction, I shove the next key into the lock. Still no bloody luck.

Then her damp lips kiss my neck, and I almost drop her when she gives me a little nip. Just enough to send a solid flow of blood straight to my dick.

And she does it again. A little harder. When she releases my flesh from between her teeth, she covers the spot with her open mouth. I remain motionless, all reason leaving my brain the moment her tongue touches my skin and swirls.

I can’t control the rumble escaping my throat. Her lips are soft and wet and hot against my neck, and all I want is more. I want everything I can’t have and it’s goddamn torture.

Before I can dwell on that thought, I suddenly feel suction. She’s giving me a fucking love bite.

Jesus.

And I don’t do a single thing to stop it.

I should jerk away, put her down, get some distance between us, but I can’t.

I stand rooted to the spot, trembling a little, though whether from the strain of holding her so long or from the effect she’s having on me, I'm not sure.

All I want right now is to enjoy her lips and tongue on me while I wonder what that suction might feel like on my cock.

As suddenly as she latched onto me, she releases me with a giggle. “Why’re you puffed?”

It’s only then I realise I’m breathing like I’ve done fifty laps of the exercise yard.

“I’m trying to find the right bloody key,” I grumble.

Doing just that, I shove another one in the lock and, thank Christ, it turns.

As the door swings inward, I stride inside and close it with my heel.

Coming to a stop, I take in the soft light glowing from a lamp beside the couch.

The open plan living area contains a big-screen TV, a cozy, thick-pile rug and an assortment of paintings on the walls.

Further in, a dining table rests to the right of the couch and a breakfast bar separates the kitchen from the rest of the room.

Even though cool air-conditioning caresses my skin, the atmosphere is warm. Jamie clearly takes pride in her home.

“Oh! I remember!” she suddenly announces.

“What?”

“The rhyme I made up when Anika was little.”

I stand there like a fool, waiting.

“It goes,” she continues, gazing up at me, “ Gavin Lake, the man I hate

Gavin Lake, never my mate

Gavin Lake, is a total fake

Gavin Lake, I hate, hate, hate.”

She grins. “Isn’t that funny?”

“No,” I growl, my gut clenching at the thought of her despising me so much she made a goddamn hate-poem out of me. “Bedroom?” I snap, and for some reason, that sets off a blast of sexy chuckles from her throat.

“Well, aren’t you sure of yourself?”

“No … I didn’t mean—”

“There,” she interrupts, pointing past the kitchen.

I hurry forward and as I reach the dark hallway, her fingers slide into my hair. Almost tripping over my own feet, I steady myself, close my eyes for a moment, and let the sensation of her touch against my scalp wash over me. I really need to get away from her. This is all too much.

Following the dim light coming from further along the hallway, I step into her bedroom, taking in the illuminated lamp on the nightstand and her neatly made bed. As I move forward, she tugs on my hair.

“This’s much better,” she breathes. “So hot … or handsome? Are they the same thing?”

I’m about to die. Alcohol definitely loosens her inhibitions, both physically and mentally.

When I gently lay her on the bed, her hands slide from my hair to the sides of my face, her fingers gliding through my short beard, exploring. Goddamn that feels good.

She frowns in concentration, then smiles. “It’s both,” she murmurs.

“Both what?”

Her fingertips soften, testing the hairs on my face as her eyes meet mine. “I was wondering if this was soft or spikey. It’s both.”

“You were wondering, were you?” I shouldn’t encourage her, but how can I resist? I’m pretty certain she’d never say anything like that while sober.

She gives me a slow nod. “I like it. I didn’t like your other beard. I couldn’t see your lips properly.”

Then she brushes her thumb right along the seam of my mouth.

“They look yummy,” she breathes, tightening her hold on my face and pulling me in so close I feel the warmth of her lips just below mine.

Nope. I can’t let that happen. I’ve already allowed her to cross too many lines I’m certain she never would when not intoxicated. Very gently, I extract her hands from my face, place them on her stomach and step back.

She watches me with hooded eyes, as if she’s about to drift off to sleep. Or pass out. Surprising me, her gaze drifts from my face in a slow, lingering inspection of my entire body. Reaching my feet, she trails her scrutiny back up again, in no hurry whatsoever. When her eyes meet mine, she smiles.

“You are so …” Her words fall away as she bites her lip, apparently trying to come up with the right word. And I’m holding my breath, waiting for it to escape her lips.

When she stretches both arms toward me, I think she wants me to embrace her. Of course I want to. But I won’t.

“I need to pee,” she sighs.

Ah, well, that’s different.

First, I slip off those sexy, dangerous heels and place them out of the way.

When I lean over her, she snakes her arms around my neck as if she’s done it a thousand times.

The moment I lift her, she instantly snuggles her face into my neck again.

Damn. If only I was someone who deserved to be burrowed into.

Sighing, I carry her into her ensuite and gently place her on her feet with her back to the toilet. When I try to move away, she grips my shoulders.

“Everything’s spinning,” she whispers.

Shit. Here we go.

“You’d better hurry up and pee,” I tell her.

She looks up at me, the pressure of her fingers on my shoulders increasing. For the first time tonight, she doesn’t look happy. She looks humiliated.

“I don’t think I can get my undies down,” she slurs.

Oh, fuck.

And now I can literally see the colour draining from her face. I don’t have time to stop and think about how inappropriate this is. I’m just thankful she’s wearing a dress and not pants.

With her grip still firm on my shoulders, I drop to one knee, slip my hands beneath the hem of her dress and quickly glide them up the outside of her silky thighs.

Christ, how I’d like to take my time, but for more than one reason, I don’t.

When my fingers hook into the lacy underwear, I slide them down her thighs, my dick straining with the knowledge that she’s naked behind the thin material right in front of my face.

Once I’ve drawn her underwear down far enough, I stand up and grip her waist. “Sit,” I tell her, and her knees unlock.

Gently lowering her to the toilet, I place her hand on the vanity beside her so she can steady herself, and quickly help bunch her skirt into her lap. Now that’s out of the way, I discover her pale face has taken on a green tinge.

Scanning the bathroom, I spot a rubbish bin on the other side of the vanity, grab it and place it on her lap. She leans over it, hugging it with her free arm. Except for the tinkling coming from the toilet bowl, nothing happens.

That’s when I notice her underwear have migrated to her ankles. I try not to look at the lacy garment, but it’s impossible to miss the damp swatch of material resting between her feet.

Jesus Christ. My dick is so hard I’m sure it’d shatter into a million pieces if someone took a hammer to it.

So, she had been telling the truth about being turned on. Doesn’t mean it had anything to do with me, of course. More likely a side effect of the alcohol.

She groans, yanking me back to reality right before she throws up into the bin.

Well, that brings my dick back under control.

There’s not much I can do for her except make sure she doesn’t topple off the toilet seat. My stomach doesn’t roil at the sounds of her retching. I’d heard much worse from my cell many, many times.