Page 36 of Wes

He shrugs, but the childish delight in his eyes makes my heart thud against my ribs. “I can’t take credit for that. I twisted a few arms at Welcoming Hills until people confessed.”

I burst out laughing shaking my head. “Silly man.”

He joins me and the gruff laughter that rumbles in his chest plays havoc with my blood pressure. My lungs constrict and I struggle to breathe. I grip the border of the counter until my knuckles turn white.

Noticing my discomfort, he dials down the heat, stepping away from me and going through the cupboards in search of glasses and a bottle of wine.

“I did cook it though,” he adds with a wink as he opens the bottle and pours the rich red liquid into the glasses.

I accept his offer and take a sip. A fruity scent fills my nostrils as the Cabernet-Sauvignon slides down my throat, leaving notes of oak in my taste buds.

“Delicious.”

He nods, taking a sip. Despite the whole fucking counter between us, he scorches my skin as his eyes rake me. Heat spreads from my chest up my neck and it’s got nothing to do with the wine.

He offers, “You’ll be more comfortable if you take off that coat.”

“No, thank you.”

I’m not ready to face him wearing only the flimsy dress he’s bought for me. I swirl the drink in the glass, watching it slosh as I scrape for a new topic.

As I glance about for one, I notice he’s wearing the jacket I got from the Brazilian designer. Again. It can’t be a coincidence. Clothing sounds like a safe subject to discuss.

“I’m curious about the jacket you’re wearing again. Any special reason?”

Wes skirts the island and comes to stand in front of me. I swallow hard because my throat gets parched. He runs the tips of his fingers along my cheeks and jaw before withdrawing them. Emptiness jabs me in the belly, and I chew my lower lip to keep a pained moan inside.

With a deep shrug, he says, “This jacket reminds me of when we first met. When I returned to San Francisco, I couldn’t wear it because it hurt too much to remember what I’d lost.” He pauses to take another swig and I follow his lead. I need the strong taste of the wine to wash away the bitterness in my mouth.

I can’t take my eyes off of his gorgeous face or come up with another topic of conversation. Like watching a train wreck unfold, I stand and wait for him to go on. Even though my heart is beating in my throat and my lungs have forgotten how to pump oxygen.

He wraps his right hand around the base of my throat. With his thumb, he forces my clenched teeth to release my lower lip. He dips his head, grazes a path on my cheek to my ear.

“Since you’ve come back into my life, this jacket has become my lucky charm.”

When his fingers squeeze me, my addled brain checks out and I gasp. His mouth covers mine, swallowing my moan. The glass slides from my numb fingers, hits the floor, and shatters into a million pieces. His follows suit. We ignore the mess as our teeth clash and lips devour. I grab at his hair, still damp from a recent shower, and pull at it when our tongues entwine before Wes sucks my upper lip.

I find support against the counter when my knees can’t hold me up. We come up for air. I sink my fingers into his biceps. His hands unbutton my coat and slide under it to squeeze my butt. His erection twitches against my belly. I lick my lip and groan, not sure if I’m refusing or pleading.

He rasps, “Take it off. I need to see you.”

I shake the coat off my shoulders and let it slide down my arms to the floor. Any doubt I had about this outfit evaporates faster than haze under the sun when unbridled desire lights up his features.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, lifting a finger to trace a path from the neckline to my navel.

The figure-hugging sheath dress, made of navy-blue silk-organza, leaves nothing to the imagination. The designer placed colorful embroidered flowers to cover the sheer fabric on strategic parts of the female anatomy, namely breasts, crotch, and ass. And that was it.

I sizzle as his eyes return to mine. There’s so much I want to say to Wes, but the words get stuck in my throat. Unable to voice those feelings, I flood my stare with them, at the same time hot pleasure rushes down my body.

He smooches my lips, admitting, “I know. It scares me too.”

He hoists me up and sets my ass on the counter with a thud.

Pushing the hemline of the dress up to my hips, he huffs, “Fuck me!”

A trembling finger slides under the lacy strap of the garter that connects its belt to the top of the nude stocking in the middle of my left thigh.

He groans.

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