“I’m sorry I jumped down your throat this afternoon.” She
said the words quickly, as if they tasted bad.

“I thought that was my line.”

She shrugged. “Maybe both of ours?”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“So go ahead and say it.” She watched him expectantly.

“I’m sorry I was an ass this afternoon?”

“You’re not supposed to say it like it’s a question.”

He grinned because he couldn’t help himself. Then reached
for her hand and tugged. “Come on in.” He dragged her
through the living room and down the hallway to the kitchen.
“You want a drink?” He nodded to the bottle of tequila on
the counter.

She glanced at the discarded lime peels. “It looks like
you’ve been drinking enough of that for both of us.”

“Not even close.” Then, because he couldn’t keep his hands
to himself for one second longer, he pulled her into his
arms. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.”

He rested his chin on the top of her head for a minute and
just breathed in the sweet honey scent of her.

She shoved against his chest, pushed him away. And for a
brief moment he felt bereft, though for the life of him he
couldn’t figure out why.

Striving for control, needing to keep his hands busy with
something other than her, he reached into the bar cabinet
and pulled out a shot glass. “You ever tried Patrón?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a big tequila drinker.”

“This isn’t any ordinary tequila.” He poured a shot, handed
it to her. But stopped her when she started to sip.

“If you’re going to do a shot, you’ve got to do it right.”

Genevieve lifted one cool brow, licked her full lower lip
and nearly had him coming in his fucking jeans. “I didn’t
realize there was a wrong way to do this.”

“Sweetheart, there’s a wrong way to do everything.” And then
he was putting his hands on her waist and lifting her up so
that her sweet ass was on the center island, her legs just a
little bit open.

Stepping between them before she could change her mind, he
slipped yet another god-awful suit jacket off her
shoulders—he was seriously going to have to do something
about her wardrobe. Maybe if he ripped it all off her . . .

Licking a trail from the hollow of her throat to her
breastbone, he savored the taste of her.

“Mmm, salty.”

She blushed, then leaned back on her hands so that her
breasts were thrust forward. “It’s a hundred degrees in the
shade. Hard not to sweat.”

It took all his self-control to take things slowly when all
he really wanted to do was to eat her alive.

“I wasn’t complaining,” he murmured as he trailed his tongue
over the curve of first one breast and then the other. Then
he slammed back the shot of tequila and finished it off by
biting into a lime slice.

Her mouth was slightly open, her eyes wide as she stared at
his lips. “That’s the right way to do a tequila shot?”

He loved her voice, the syrupy sweetness was a turn-on even
without the hard-ass tone she deliberately injected into it.
With the hard-ass tone, it was irresistible. “It’s the best
way.”

“I bet.”

He poured another shot. Handed it to her. “Here. You try.”

He shrugged out of his T-shirt and nearly smiled as she did
the same. Would have, if his first look at her body hadn’t
brought him all the way to the edge. She was still covered
in little bruises, the love bites he’d given her the last
time they’d been together. It was hard to imagine that he’d
done that to her, had marked her as he’d marked no other
woman. Had claimed her as he’d never had the desire to do
before.

Maybe he was a Neanderthal, because looking at her covered
in his marks— seeing her proudly wearing the evidence of his
desire for her—turned him so hard and fast his vision blurred.

Shit, how he wanted this woman. Was dangerously close to
becoming obsessed with her.

Her sexy pink tongue darted out, swiped across her top lip
and then her bottom one, as if she couldn’t quite decide
where to lick. And every thought he had or might have had
got lost in the wild need pumping through him.

Groaning, he tangled a hand in her hair and urged her
closer. “Come on, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Taste me.”