Page 33 of Second First Kiss

Good and pissed off, Kat shoved her keys into the car door and unlocked it. She yanked the door open and was about to slide in when Nolan said, “Kat?”

She whipped around. “What?”

He looked at her tires and the weight of the night came crashing down. Too much to bear, she slammed the door shut. “God, I can’t even storm off in a cloud of dust!”

He reached into his coat pocket—the coat she was wearing, which meant she could feel the pressure of his hand against her belly—and pulled out a set of keys. He dangled them in front of her. “Here, storm off in my truck.”

Kat couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing. “You’d let me speed and drive erratically in your truck? Is this some kind of trap?”

“Would it make you feel better?”

“Hell yeah, it would,” she said.

“Then have at it.” He took her hand and dropped the keys into her palms, then closed her fingers around them. He didn’t let go right away, just held her hand in his, his thumb gently brushing over the inside of her wrist. “Just promise you won’t go driving over to R. J.’s looking for round two.”

She turned toward where his truck was parked nearby, but he held firm. “Promise?”

“I promise.” she said. When he lifted a brow, she added, “I swear.”

“Good, because he may be just a punk but he has dangerous connections, and a rich daddy in his back pocket. He practically has diplomatic immunity in this town. So whenever you think about running him over, just think about Tessa and the custody hearing.”

“That’s not fair,” she whispered. “I’m trying to keep her safe. I’m doing this for her because I wish someone had done it for me.”

“Done what for you?” He waited for a response, but she remained quiet. “Done what for you, Kitten?”

“Cared,” she whispered.

“I care. Very much. Too much,” he whispered back.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she managed through the growing lump in her throat. He was giving off this tender comfort she wasn’t used to experiencing with men. It brought back the unwanted and embarrassing moisture to her eyes.

If his face had been full of concern a moment ago, now it was overflowing with a protectiveness that had her heart ricocheting off her ribs. He reached out and caught the first tear as it began to fall.

“It’s just rain,” she whispered, but didn’t step back. Instead, she uncharacteristically tilted her head higher so that he could see the vulnerability bubbling up within her, a side effect she assumed, from exposure to a good man.

He smiled. “I know that.”

She was so tired and couldn’t even think straight so she dropped her forehead to his chest. His arms slid around her and pulled her into a hug. And wow, it was the best hug she’d ever been on the receiving end of. Strong and assured with gentle curves and possessive angles.

Her head told her to abort, but her heart begged her for just a moment to pretend that this was her life. Not with Nolan, because they could never work, but with a man like him. That pretending lasted long enough to be genuine comfort and she wondered what it would take to be hugged like this by a man every day.

As they stood there, the rain coming down in sheets, plastering her hair to her head, and his shirt to his chest, she closed her eyes and gave into the moment. She tightened her arms around his waist—he was such a big man her hands hardly touched in the back and her head barely made it past his chest. His arms tightened gently, embracing with a tender assuredness. One hand slowly moved up her spine to tangle in her hair. He didn’t fist or pull or do anything overtly sexual, he just cradled her head to his heart. But her body responded as if his hands were running over her bare skin.

Unable to help herself, she ran her palms up his back, enjoying every muscle as it flexed beneath her touch, then she came around the sides and back down, her fingertips dancing over his impressive abs.

“Kitten,” he groaned, “this isn’t why I came here.”

And that made it even sexier.

That protectiveness of his went to a possessiveness that had genuine, tumultuous lust scrambling through her and, as if unable to stop herself, her body molded to match his—and she might have rolled her hips into his.

“I know what you’re doing,” he whispered as he nuzzled her neck. “It won’t work.”

Oh, how she loved a challenge. “What won’t work?” she asked coyly.

He tilted her head back so that she could meet his gaze. Not working, my ass. The man was looking at her as if she were a bottle of fine scotch waiting to be savored. And she knew how much he liked his scotch.

“You’re trying to make this about sex,” he said, and she felt a little quill bristle. She knew when a man wanted her. And he wanted her. Badly.

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