Page 20 of One Little Kiss
She stands across from me with her hands fisted at her hips. Ample hips that squish in slightly where her fists press against her sides. Winnie is a gorgeous woman. Beautiful in a way that’s real. Curves in all the right places with enough on her bones to grab hold of without fearing you’ll break her. I’ve always hated that about the women I’ve dated in the past—predominantly models with bones protruding that make you think they’re fragile, even if they’re vipers. I have a feeling I could grab hold of Winnie and lose myself in her completely.
Her cream-colored sweater is cropped just above the high-waisted jeans she’s wearing, allowing a hint of skin to show when she moves. She isn’t waif-like, but her tummy is flat and smooth, and my gaze flits to that barest glimpse of skin whenever it appears.
Winnie crosses her arms over her chest, and that fucking sweater rises just a fraction more.
“Fine. Dare.”
“You’re choosing dare?” My tone reflects my shock.
Her chin raises defiantly, and my jaw ticks. The effort of not pinning her to the wall is nearly unbearable.
“I am,” she says matter-of-factly.
As my gaze scans her head to toe, I rub my chin with my thumb and forefinger. I’m fucking delighted when the faintest blush reappears across her cheeks.
“How about if we save the rewards for the end?”
“Fine,” she huffs out and marches over to her bag. Leaning down, she pulls out a notebook and pen.
When I step closer, I see she’s making a winner and a loser column. She likes to keep score.
Game on, baby.
“What’s next?”
“It’s your hour. Your turn to choose.”
* * *
“There’s no way you won again. You’re cheating.”
“Baby, I do a lot of shit, but I never cheat.”
Her eyes narrow in frustration. She wasn’t lying when she said she’s competitive.
“Dance off,” she nearly shouts.
The bark of laughter that falls from my lips has her face frowning and turning all shades of red.
“You’re sexy as hell when you’re pissed off.”
“Dance. Off,” she repeats.
Having tossed my suit coat hours ago, I slowly roll up the sleeves of my dress shirt.
“You’re on. Name your terms.”
“We choose a song for the other person, and you have to dance to whatever plays.”
“What determines the winner?”
“Sexiest dance wins.” The way her eyes shimmer, I know she’s about to play dirty. I fucking love dirty.
“Game. On. Sweetheart. Play my song.”
The arch of her perfectly sculpted eyebrow raises a fraction. I know I laid down the gauntlet and I cannot wait for this to play out. She points a long finger to the other side of the aisle, so I take my time walking away from her and wait for the song to play.
Bump. Bump. Bump, comes out clearly through her phone’s speakers. I know immediately what song it is. As “Build Me Up Buttercup” by The Foundations starts, I throw my head back and laugh while I sway my shoulders to the beat. Lowering my gaze, I focus on one thing, and one thing only. The sexiest woman I’ve ever met in my life, Winnie.
