Page 33 of On Tap for the Bear
"I had wine with dinner. I'm not drunk." I move closer, my dress swishing around my knees. "I'm steady on my feet, my words aren't slurring, and I meant every step that brought me here. I'm just done pretending I don't feel this."
"Quinn...”
"You wanted to." I stop at the bar between us, gripping the edge. The wood is smooth and cool under my palms. "In the cellar this morning. You wanted to kiss me."
His jaw tightens. "That doesn't mean I should."
"Why not?" Frustration edges my voice sharper. "Give me one good reason that isn't about protecting me or keeping things professional or whatever excuse you've been telling yourself."
Eli rounds the bar slowly, each step deliberate. He stops close enough that I can smell cedar and smoke on him, see the goldflecks in his brown eyes. "You don't know what you're asking for."
"Then tell me." My pulse hammers in my throat. "Explain it to me instead of making decisions about what I can handle."
"You're vulnerable right now. You're rebuilding your life, figuring out who you are without...” He stops himself, but I know what he means. Without taste. Without my career. Without all the things that used to define me.
Heat flares in my chest. "I'm not fragile, Eli. I'm not some broken thing you need to tiptoe around."
"I know you're not broken."
"Then stop treating me like I am." I step closer, eliminating the space between us. "I can taste your food. Evelyn's food at the Inn. When I can't taste anything else. That means something. You mean something."
His hand lifts, almost involuntarily, brushing a strand of hair back from my face. His fingers linger at my temple, trembling slightly. "Everything about this is complicated."
"I don't care about complicated." My voice drops lower. "I care about this. Right now. You and me and whatever this is between us."
"Quinn." My name sounds like a warning and a prayer.
I kiss him.
Press up on my toes and close the final inches between us, my mouth finding his. His lips are warm, firm, and for half a heartbeat he goes rigid under my touch. Frozen. Then he makes a sound—low in his throat, almost a growl.
Eli's hand slides into my hair, fingers gripping tight enough to make my scalp tingle, cupping the back of my head. He kisses me back and the world tilts. His mouth moves against mine with a hunger that makes my knees weak, demanding and possessive. His other arm wraps around my waist, hauling me against the solid wall of his chest.
My fingers tighten in his flannel. His beard scrapes my chin. His tongue traces my lower lip and I open for him, tasting cinnamon and coffee and heat.
I grab fistfuls of his flannel, holding on as he walks me backward until my spine hits the bar. His mouth moves to my jaw, my throat, and I gasp at the scrape of his beard against sensitive skin. His breath comes hot against my neck.
"Quinn." My name sounds like a question and a curse.
I tilt my head back, giving him better access. "Don't stop."
"You have no idea what you're starting."
"Then show me."
Eli lifts me onto the bar in one smooth motion, the wood cold against the backs of my thighs. He steps between my knees, spreading them wider, and my dress rides up. His hands skim up my sides, calluses catching on the fabric, and my back arches without conscious thought. Heat pools low in my belly.
His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time. Demanding. I taste cinnamon and heat and something wild that makes my head spin. My fingers fumble with the buttons of his flannel, clumsy and shaking. The first button slips free. Then the second. I need to feel his skin. Need more than fabric and friction between us.
He makes an impatient sound and helps me, yanking the flannel open. Buttons scatter across the bar top, pinging against glass bottles behind us.
"Quinn." He breaks the kiss long enough to yank his t-shirt over his head, and I get a brief glimpse of broad shoulders, muscled chest, a wicked scar along his ribs before he's kissing me again.
My hands slide over his back, fingertips tracing the ridges of muscle, the dip of his spine. His skin is hot—fever-hot—like he's burning from the inside out. I dig my nails in and he groansagainst my mouth. The sound vibrates through my chest, settles between my legs.
His fingers find the zipper at the back of my dress. "Is this what you want?"
"Yes." No hesitation. No doubt.
