Page 94 of That Reunited Feeling

“Yup. Is this what being on drugs is like?” She swivels to face me and rests a hand on my thigh. “Is this what being on cocaine is like?”

“Nothing like it.” I weave my fingers with hers. “You’re being nowhere near enough of an arsehole.”

Her excitement is infectious. That’s what it feels like when you finally get to do what you were born to do. It reminds me of how I felt when I signed my first band. But somehow that rush, the pure joy at attaining the dream, got shoved aside along the way—polluted with meetings, spreadsheets, and staff who throw Grammys at disagreeable singer-songwriters.

“Honest to God, Tom.” She slides her hand across my chest, pushing two fingers through a gap between the buttons onmy shirt. Then she leans into me, heat radiating off her, and whispers, “How the hell am I going to keep my hands off you until we get back?”

Thank Christ I have a T-shirt on underneath. Her touch through the fabric has sent Mr. Stiffy on a swift trip north, so heaven help me if her fingertips had made it through to bare flesh.

She crosses her leg over mine and rests her piping-hot lips against my ear. “I just need you inside me, Tom. So fucking badly.”

“Okaaay,” I say, nice and loud, so Hermann can hear me taking charge of the situation.

As much as I’d love to tell him to pull over in a quiet spot and take a walk for a few minutes, this time I’m taking Hannah to bed.

Forcing myself to drag my leg out from under hers, I turn to face her so our bodies are no longer touching.

“Spoilsport.” She paws at my chest again and pushes out her luscious bottom lip in the sexiest sulky pout I ever did see.

Mustering every ounce of willpower, even ounces I didn’t know I possessed, I take a gentle but firm grip on her wrists and bring them to my mouth.

I lower my voice. “I can’t wait to get my hands on you either. But for Hermann’s sake, let’s try to behave for the half hour it’ll take to get back to my place.” I kiss the backs of her hands, then hold them down against the seat between us so she can’t do anything with them that might endanger my resolve or spark Hermann’s blushes.

“If I didn’t know better,” I say, “I’d think you’d downed half a bottle of vodka. But it’s way better than that. You’re drunk on finding yourself.”

“It was incredible up there.” Her eyes go distant and misty, like she’s transported back to the stage. “Dominique was amazing.”

“Youwere amazing.” Thank God she agreed to do it. Thank God she now has some idea of her worth, her talent, and what she could be. It is the most gratifying sight to behold. “I could not be more proud that?—”

Her lips are on mine. Jesus fucking Christ, how is a man supposed to control himself when the woman of his dreams is forcing herself on him in the back of a moving vehicle?

Woman of my dreams?

There’s no time to process it right now. Whatever she is, her delicious tongue needs to be out of my mouth, and her soft, eager lips need to be off mine before my zipper causes me a permanent injury or I have to put Hermann through extensive therapy.

“So…” I peel myself off her and try to get my breath back. Her eyes are still closed, face leaning toward me. When she realizes I’m not coming back, she opens her eyes and pouts again. “Not that I don’t love your lips on mine, but until we get home, let’s keep them busy with something else.”

“Oooo.” She makes an exaggerated seductive face and reaches for my belt.

How the hell did her hands get free?

I take a fresh, firm hold of them. “I mean with talking. Let’s keep your lips busy with talking. There are lots of things I want to know about you.”

“What? You want to chat?Now?” One hand breaks loose again and slides far enough up my inner thigh to graze one bollock before I can catch it. “Are you the most frustrating person alive?”

“Yes. To all of those things. Though you, Houdini Hands Hepburn, are giving me a damn good run for my money.”

“Seriously, I’m ready to tear off our pants and jump on you, and you want to spend time getting to know each other?”

I place one of her own fingers on her lips to shush her just as Hermann turns up the radio. It’s a phone-in on something to do with parking meters that seems to be getting heated.

“Are you sure you didn’t knock back a few shots when I went to the bathroom?”

“Stone-cold sober,” she says. “Just incredibly horny.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Who knew performing would be such an aphrodisiac?”

“Me, for one. When I used to travel around with bands, the first thing they’d do when they got off stage was pick someone up for the night.”

“I’m very specifically horny foryou, I mean. Only you. Not for just any guy who’d happen to be wandering around. Just you.”

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