Page 17 of Rock the Chardonnay

Only that if a person can actually die from embarrassment, I’m about to leave poor Alex fatherless. I clear my throat, and force myself to step away from her. “I’m so sorry. It’s been two years since my wife and I split up, and—you don’t need to know this. I’m sorry. We were talking about you.” This is why every woman prefers Ciaran. Ciaran doesn’t get inappropriate erections. Ciaran doesn’t then apologize for getting said inappropriate erection. He would have teased, flirted, joked, and then ended up in bed with her anyway.

Not me. There’s no chance I will end up in bed with Daughtry, particularly not if I continue spouting nonsense.

“It’s a nice distraction.” She leans back against the counter and stretches in a feline and incredibly appealing way. When did she shift from forlorn to flirting? It’s dizzying. I reel a little, feeling day drunk again. “I don’t know anything about your wife. What happened?”

My own blindness. I stick to my script. “Why do you want to know?”

She shrugs, her shirt slipping another inch down her skin. Fuck me, she’s gorgeous. My cock throbs, and I ignore it. “Distract me.”

If anything is a mood killer, it’s talking about one’s ex. “Josie and I met in grad school. She was getting her masters in journalism. That’s what she does. International photojournalism.”

“Wow. That sounds amazing.”

“It is. She’s been in the running for a Pulitzer and everything.” It’s far easier talking about Josie’s accomplishments than the many, many confusing things swirling inside of me. “She’s in Burundi right now, working on a documentary. She calls every three days to talk to Alex.”

“So, what happened?” There’s something in Daughtry’s gaze and question that hold me rapt. I can’t move if I wanted to.

I run my hand over my jaw, feeling the stubble begging to be shaved but I haven’t gotten to yet. She doesn’t need to know everything. No one knows everything that went down with me and Josie. I’ll tell her the same lie I’ve told my mom. “At the end, we both realized we were good friends, but not really in love any more. I thought she would be happier without me.”

Daughtry whistles, long and low. “Ouch. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Were you happier?”

Am I? “I don’t know. I don’t want to be with someone who wants…something I can’t be.”

“Hmm.” Daughtry moves a step toward me and traces her hand up the midline of my torso, her hand searing me through the fabric of my polo shirt. “What is it that you can’t be?”

Her touch scrambles my mind like microwaves, but I know what she’s asking and I’m not about to volunteer.

Ciaran. I couldn’t be Ciaran.

“Bold,” I say at last. “Carefree.”

She glances up at me, licking her lips, and all rational thought takes a bullet train to Kyoto. “Have you never done anything spontaneous, Declan?”

Somehow she has crossed the room and is within touching distance. So close, yet never close enough. If I merely flex my palms, I can grab her hips, but I don’t know how to narrow that chasm. “I find spontaneous confusing,” I say.

Daughtry picks up my hands and wraps them around her waist. My cock seizes this opportunity like it’s a dying man with a thousand dollars at a strip club.

“Daughtry, what are you doing?” I ask, or I think I do. It’s difficult to think of anything as she presses herself against me, nuzzling into my neck.

“Confusing you,” she replies. Then she takes my face in her hands, and kisses me.

CHAPTER 9

Daughtry

I don’t expect much.

I’ve kissed plenty of people before. I’ve had a whole range of first kisses, from blah to brilliant. Most fall somewhere in the middle. Besides, this is Declan Foster. I knew him a hundred years ago, and we were barely acquaintances. Have I always thought he was hot? Sure. Of course. He is, objectively. Hot people rarely measure up in the sexy times department.

Yet.

From the moment we crash together, everything feels new. His mouth is warm and soft and pliant. He doesn’t devour me or shower me in saliva, but takes his time. He savors my mouth, my lips, and when I press my tongue against his bottom lip, he tastes of mint and sweet, red currant wine. It’s intoxicating and delicious and I want to spend hours like this, his arms around me, my mouth his.

“Is this okay?” he whispers against me.

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