Page 22 of One Hotlanta Night
“Bingo.” I clear my throat, his perusal almost unnerving.Breathe, Vivian, I chastise myself as I turn my head to scan the bottles that I didn’t have a chance to earlier. The gold, amber, and clear liquids glow on the shelf. Patron, 1800, and of course, my nemesis—Jose Cuervo.
“You don’t like silver,” he observes. “Why is that?”
“The only bad experience I’ve had with alcohol was with white tequila. Could’ve been the Chinese food, but I blame the Patron.” I laugh awkwardly, and then cringe. That was probably the leastattractive thing I could reveal to this hot-as-hell stranger, but oh well.
“Fair enough.” Michael chuckles. “Mine was Jim Bean after a camping trip,” he adds, leveling the playing field. That’s sweet. “Pretty sure I should’ve gone to the hospital instead of waiting it out on the couch.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Yeah, not one of my finer moments.” He grimaces, turning back to the long shelf of liquor options. “But you live and learn, right?” I nod, thankful for the admission that a perfect man can make mistakes too.
“A shot of anejo for my lady,” Michael says when the bartender finally makes his way to us. His hand returns to its possessive hold on my waist, and I don’t know if I’m more turned on by that or the fact that he actually knows something about tequila. Anejo happens to be my favorite age of tequila; maybe it’s a lucky guess on his part. But it’s his thumb lightly stroking my waist as his arm cradles me, the soft movement rhythmic and soothing, that has me second-guessing myself.
What am I doing?
More importantly, what do Iwantto do?
My heart and head are at war—not to mention my body which is unabashedly begging to crawl into Michael’s pants—knowing I came here with established rules. Rules meant to keep me safe. Rules meant to give me clarity. Rules I want to throw out the window right now. At least for tonight.
Every moment with him has been unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. And also, exactly right. He's confident. Commanding. In every look, every touch. Maybe on another guy it’d seem arrogant, but on him, I like it. On him, it’s sexy. Alluring. Self-assured.
His hands leave searing marks of heat wherever he touches me, fire branding into my soul when his eyes capture mine.
He makes me feel desired and protected at the same time.
Cherished and also like he can’t wait to devour me.
No one has ever made me feel like this.
When you’ve lived through as much as I have in the past few years, it feels like a lifetime. There’s not a flavor of guy I haven’t tried. It’s been what, an hour? since Michael and I first met, and all I want is more. More of him.
Would it really be so bad to pursue it, this connection? Even just for tonight?
Claire’s words echo in my head, encouraging me to take a chance. I have been “good” for some time now. What’s the harm in satisfying my curiosity? And when have I ever let a petty thing like rules stand in my way? Rules are good and all, but then there’s going with your gut. And at this moment, I’m about to let my gut win.
Fuck it. I’m tired of flip-flopping. I want to give in. I’ll analyze my behavior in the morning, but for tonight, I’m going to let myself get wrapped up in Michael and whatever this thing is between us. Maybe just for one night, I can relax and allow myself to feel wanted, desired, cherished by someone who looks like they want to make me feel good. Like how his hand on my skin feels good. Warm, invigorating, and with too many clothes in between.
“Salt and lime?” Michael looks at me and I nod, pleased. A man who pays attention is a sexy man after all. “And a shot of Crown.”
The bartender hands over the drinks and Michael lifts his.
“To the best laid plans… and destiny,” he says and clinks his glass against mine. His words hold weight, his warm eyes encompassing mine. I don’t hesitate as I meet his eyes before nodding, and I throw my shot back. My mouth twists a slight grimace as I bite the lime, but I smile around the sour tang. Hedoesn’t know how true his words just might be. This night has taken a turn for the better, and I’m not gonna fight it anymore.
Michael
“Last caalll for al-co-holll!” the bartender calls out.
“Mmm,” I groan, clasping Vivian’s waist tighter and resting my forehead against hers. I’ve got her cradled in between my legs as I recline against the bar, my thumbs running small circles on her hips, savoring every point of contact between our bodies. We’re more exposed over here than on the dance floor so I’m keeping my touch PG. Not to disrespect the couples groping and sucking face nearby, but when I claim my woman’s lips for the first time, I don’t want the whole world to see.
That’s just for us.
I want to explore every inch of her, learn what she likes, make her fall apart under my fingers, my mouth, but that will have to wait until we’re in private.Soon, I tell myself. My life has changed tonight and now the only thing left is to convince her of the same.
She curls herself into my chest, almost rubbing her head against my shirt like a kitten. I stroke her hair, palming her head right over my heart where it’s beating just for her. She glances up at me. “I don’t want this night to end,” she says softly.
“Me neither, hermosa.” My eyes bore into hers. The gold sparks in her gorgeous green eyes are enchanting. Does she feel even a fraction of what I do?
We’d skipped the small talk, instead spending the whole night dancing, our hands and feet moving in sync together. We will have all the time in the world for conversation, but my body’s conveyed every word I want to say. Holding her has felt so right. She’s luscious. All sweet and sexy wrapped up in a curvy, sultry package.
