Page 38 of Click of Fate

That’s all it takes.

The kiss happens fast—our mouths meeting like we’ve already been through this a dozen times and still haven’t had enough. She’s not holding back this time. She kisses like shewants to forget how careful she’s been. My hand slips behind her neck as her fingers fist my shirt, pulling me closer.

The bartender clears his throat from somewhere behind us. We both ignore him.

Barely.

She breaks the kiss with a small gasp and leans in, her lips brushing against my jaw.

“If we don’t leave this bar or find a room with a lock, I’m going to climb you right here.”

Yeah. We’re not waiting.

“Still time to change your mind,” she says.

“Not a chance.”

Her smile is lazy. Dangerous. She’s all heat and contradiction. And she knows exactly what she’s doing when she leans back in and kisses me again, deeper this time.

My hand slides down to her hip, the other cradling the side of her neck. She shifts toward me, practically in my lap, and if we have an audience, I don’t care.

When Stella is in my arms, the rest of the world shuts up.

She presses her forehead to mine.

“I bet the bathroom has a lock.”

I chuckle. “You really are trouble.”

She stands and takes my hand without looking back, and I follow with no hesitation.

She leads the way like she’s done it before, all cool, unbothered, her hand gripping mine like a silent dare.

She opens the bathroom door, glances behind us, then pulls me inside.

The door barely clicks shut before she’s pressing me against it, her mouth on mine again. It’s fast, hot, and frantic—in the best way.

She tastes like beer and that strawberry ChapStick I’ve seen her put on half dozen times since we met.

My hands find her waist, sliding under her top, thumbs tracing the warm skin just above her cut-off jeans. She kisses me harder this time, less teasing. Her tongue brushes mine, and I groan, already drowning in her again.

Her fingers tug at my shirt, palms flat against my stomach, then slide up my chest like she’s reacquainting herself. Like she missed this.

And maybe she did.

I lift her easily—like she weighs nothing—and set her on the counter. Her legs wrap around me, locking me in.

She bites my bottom lip, and I groan as I grip the hem of her shirt and slide it up. She gasps when my fingers trail along her skin just below her bra.

It’s not careful. It’s not sweet.

But it’s us.

Breathless, she says, “Still not a one-night stand kind of guy, huh?”

“Still not pretending I don’t want you,” I murmur into her skin.

I trail kisses down her neck, grazing her collarbone with my teeth. She shivers and arches toward me, one hand fisting the fabric at my shoulder.

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