Page 23 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

His arms came around me, gingerly at first, and then with more assurance as I snuggled closer.

“How long do we do this for?” he asked.

I wasn’t about to let go first. I never did. “As long as you need.”

“I’m good. I don’t need a hug. I appreciate it, though,” he added.

“Max, I have never met anyone more in need of a hug than you.”

But his arms had already loosened, so I released him from my embrace. As I took a step back, his hands flexed against my hips, as though he meant to stop me. I paused, searching his face. I saw only confusion. His arms dropped to his sides.

“Did I do that right?” he asked.

I laughed. “There’s no wrong way to hug, Max.”

“Good,” he said. “Because now it’s your turn.”

Something in his tone made me pay attention. “For what?”

His gaze raked over me, lingering on my mouth and bare throat, making me shiver. When at last our eyes collided, after his leisurely perusal of my body that made me feel like I was stark naked, his lips curved slowly.

“Practice.”

Max

I wasn’t angry at Kate. I couldn’t be, because no sane man would be pissed over something so benign as a hug.

But this feeling that welled inside me was akin to fury. It was spiky and feral and made me feel like an injured tiger pacing his cage. Because that hug hadn’t felt benign. Not at all. It felt like a threat, the way she disarmed my defenses with nothing more than a gentle embrace. She had knocked me off-center, made me feel exposed and vulnerable, and fucking hell, I was going to make her pay for that.

And make damn sure she enjoyed every second of it.

Kate’s dark eyes widened as I prowled toward her. She took an unconscious step back.

“Don’t run from me, Kate,” I said.

“I’m not running!” she said indignantly, but her words were undermined by another step back. “What are you… Practice what, exactly?”

“Kissing,” I reminded her. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? That’s why you were at Goat’s tonight.”

Her gaze lowered to my mouth, and her tongue darted out to nervously lick her lips, making me bite back a groan. “Just kissing, right?” she asked. “Because I’m not ready—”

“Just kissing,” I assured her.

She relaxed at that, much to my amusement. Just kissing, she said. Like kissing was safe. Kissing wasn’t safe, not for her. It was the start of something, the first step to more. She wasn’t ready for more, not tonight, and that was fine. I would honor that.

But I would also make her want it anyway. Want more.

And I would do that with “just” kissing.

“Come here, Kate,” I ordered.

She obeyed. She was nervous, judging by the coldness of her hand when I caught it in mine and pulled her in closer. My resolve faltered. “Would you rather play cards?” I offered, half seriously.

She jerked her head back to glare at me. “Cards?” she demanded.

Before I could reply, she gripped my jaw in her hand and brought my mouth down hard on hers.

The shock of it froze me in place. And then suddenly, ice became fire as her tongue delicately licked my lower lip. That tentative touch unleashed a ferocious need that nearly brought me to my knees.

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