Page 43 of Jingle Belle's Biker

“Trying to get rid of me?” he says. “And here I was, about to do your dishes.”

I roll my eyes, set the pan in the sink to soak, and drag him away. “No. But I don’t want you doing my dishes, and just shut up and take some home.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Maybe you should.” I hand him his wine that I carried into the kitchen, but he sets it down. I’m suddenly flustered. “I don’t have dessert.”

“No Twinkies?”

“Sorry.”

He takes my wine, puts it next to his, and he comes in close so I’m pressed against the counter, and he’s a breath from me.

The thing is, I’m pressed into the counter to stop myself throwing myself at him. Heat winds through my blood, bursting into existence here and there on my skin.

And he doesn’t miss a splotch.

He traces a hot spot on my cheek. “I don’t need Twinkies. Haven’t had them since then. Haven’t wanted them.”

My throat goes searing hot and swollen, and somehow, I manage a swallow.

Saint’s staring at me.

Like I’m the dessert he didn’t ask for. The dessert he craves.

His gaze drops to my mouth as he moves in a little closer, and now I’m on fire, from my toes to the top of my head. The wild and heady flame licking me everywhere.

I tip my head back and sway forward, just a bit.

“What you do you want?” I ask.

“This.”

His mouth comes close, and my breath stutters.

He doesn’t swoop or close the gap fast.

The man takes his time.

Like he’s giving me the chance to escape.

Like he wants to savor every drop of the anticipation.

His lips touch mine, and I sigh softly. It’s a small kiss, a taste, and he lifts his head.

“More?”

“Fuck yes.”

This time, he moves in, arms coming around me, and he kisses me long and slow. It’s a parting of lips, heat and wetness, tongues touching, and I can’t feel my toes. He tastes like hot nights and slow dances. He tastes earthy, and real, and something otherworldly.

Like sex and promises.

Like nothing I’ve ever had, or ever experienced.

I moan and wrap my arms around him, pulling him farther down as my insides tumble.

The kiss gets harder, edged with the kind of sex I’ve never had. Wild, primal. And then . . . oh, hell.

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