Page 61 of When We Were Us
He drops his hand from her waist. She blinks up at me as I push him back and step in between them, turning my back on him.
“What the hell, Hayes?” I hear him yell before I spin Wren away, but he knows better than to say any more.
I grab her around the waist with one arm and haul her against me, wrapping her right hand in my left. She stares up at me, dumbstruck. But she doesn’t pull away as her left hand moves to my shoulder.
God, she feels amazing. She fits perfectly against me, just like she always has.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
wrenley
“That was incredibly uncalled for.”I try to sound offended as my cheeks heat. I should pull back and make him apologize to me and to Archie, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad that he’d cut in. My stomach gives a little flutter because I can feel every inch of him from chest to thighs.
“What’s uncalled for is having to watch that asshole put his hands all over you.” His grip tightens possessively as he slides his hand from my waist up to my back.
My eyes shoot up to look at him in surprise. “His hands werenotall over me.”
“One more minute and he was losing teeth.” His voice is hard, but his eyes are amused.
His thumb brushes the skin just above my dress, and that contact alone has every cell in my body coming alive. And God, he smells good.
A feverish flicker sparks in my belly and goosebumps break out over my skin.I shift my gaze quickly around us and lower my voice. “For your information, I can dance with whomever I want.”
Hank leans in again. His breath flutters against the sensitive skin below my ear, so light Iwould miss it if my body wasn’t screaming for this man's attention. “You trying to piss me off, gorgeous?”
The endearment slips from his lips. The words whispered are so teasingly intimate, and his confident tone so different. It is a welcome contrast to the daggers he’s been throwing my way for weeks.
It catches me off guard and an involuntary shudder moves through my body. I sway against him just a bit as a riptide of emotion and lust grips me, and my fingers tighten on his shoulder. I can feel the heat of his skin through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. He’s so close and so warm. My fingers itch to dip under the hem of his shirt, grip his bicep, and dig my nails into his tanned skin.
I fight for someplace to focus my gaze, but everywhere I look, there he is. A solid wall of muscle that my body can’t seem to resist. I haven’t had a drop to drink since lunch, yet I feel like I’ve had at least a couple of shots of something way too strong.
Finally finding my voice, I tilt my head back and stare up into pools of liquid smoke. “I don’t get you.” What I see there disarms me. So, with a shake of my head, I try for annoyance. If only to protect my thundering heart from going places I know it can’t, but my words come out all breathy and light.
“What?” He has to know what I’m getting at, but he doesn’t seem the least bit fazed by our close proximity as he looks down at me. Or the gentle sway of his hips keeping easy time to the music, propelling me around the dance floor in a slow rhythm.
“What are we doing, Hank?” I motion between us with a hand. “What is this?”
“Dancing?” His words come out teasing, but they have the opposite effect on me. I want to stomp my foot in frustration.
The normally scowling, grumpy, bear of a man staring at me has been replaced with something else entirely. His eyes hold every bit as much heat as they usually do, but instead of the usual open hostility, there issomething else. Humility and an openness very reminiscent of the old Hank. He’s also holding me incredibly close. Almost possessively, which seems to be one of the reasons my mind is malfunctioning.
“Dancing.” I deadpan and half snort as I stare at him, incredulous. “Since when do you want to dance with me?”
I’m truly not trying to goad him, but he’s giving me a serious case of whiplash here. I’ve wished for this side of him, wished he felt comfortable showing me every part of this adult, ridiculously sexy Hank. Maybe this is his way of doing that.Finally.
His jaw tightens and he sucks in a breath as he looks around then drops his eyes back to mine. “It was this or kick Archie Sandburg's skinny ass.” He lifts a shoulder and I think I see the ghost of a smile.
I take the bait and my words come out in a breathy stutter, “W–why would you need to kick his ass? Archie was a perfect gentleman.”
His eyes darken and he brings his hand up to my face. He cups my cheek and his thumb slides over my bottom lip, pulling it down the slightest bit.
A muscle in his jaw ticks and he looks to be weighing his options. His eyes bounce across my face, and he leans in again. He’s so close that our foreheads are almost touching, and his mouth is inches from where his thumb runs across my lower lip.
I feel his words as they fan out across my lips and chin. “Is that what you want, Wren? A perfect gentleman?” He cocks a dark brow at me, his gaze unwavering, challenging, but also sultry.
My breathing is ragged, and my body is on fire. “No,” I answer, my voice just above a whisper.
Our lips meet in a featherlight kiss. Our mingled breaths taste like mint, tequila, and whiskey, and there isn't the slightest bit of hesitation or uncertainty. It's soft and sensual and filled with anticipation. When my eyes flutter to his, he captures my mouth, and his lips turn insistent. It becomes a kiss of desperation—all need and angst—and I truly don’t think I have ever been kissed like this.
