Home > Hit the Spot (Dirty Deeds #2)(7)

Hit the Spot (Dirty Deeds #2)(7)
Author: J. Daniels

“There is nothing to admit,” I argued.

“You liked what I just said.”

“I did not.”

“Did.”

Gripping my pen and ticket book with both hands, I tipped forward until I was leaning over the table, narrowed my eyes, and repeated with emphasis, “Did. Not.”

Jamie quickly reached out, wrapped his hand around my elbow now, and held on firm, a lot firmer than before, keeping me at the close proximity I so willingly entered of my own volition.

Shit. The first rule of sparring with Jamie McCade was to keep your distance.

Rookie mistake. I was screwed.

“How long are we gonna keep playin’ this little game?” he asked, his voice dropping low.

“What little game?” I asked back, playing dumb because Jamie was gripping me, he was staring deep into my eyes, and my heart was starting to beat so loudly I could feel it vibrating through my bones, and if I said the words clinging to the tip of my tongue—“I don’t know”—I was afraid of how they would sound and, worse, how he’d react to them.

Breathy. Helpless. Defeated. I couldn’t let him hear my weakness. He’d take advantage. He’d grip harder and stare deeper. He’d pull me closer and then …

“You know the game, babe,” he said, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I blinked him into focus as he kept on at me.

“I push and you push back, giving me your smart-ass mouth—which I dig, Legs, no question there—but I’m just sayin’ and this is a heads-up for you, I can only be so patient before I stop waiting around and start takin’. Your playing time is about up.”

My lips parted. I blinked again, struggling to wrap my head around what Jamie had just said, or promised, rather.

He’d just promised to take me. Soon. Like … soon soon?

“Uh.” I tugged on my arm still being held by a hand that was feeling a little too good at the moment.

He had big hands. Strong hands. Hands that could crush my heart if he touched it.

“Can you let go of me, please?” I requested.

Jamie gazed up at me. “You’re feelin’ it, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“This shit between us.” His rough fingers moved along my skin, sliding higher and wrapping firmer. “You’re feelin’ it. Right now. Fuck, babe, look at you.”

“I’m feeling like you need to let me go so I can do my job.”

“Not happenin’,” he growled. “Not when I get moments like this with you when I know it ain’t just me. I’m wearin’ you down.”

“You are not wearing me down. You aren’t even close to wearing me down.” I yanked my arm again and met nothing but resistance. “Do you mind?”

“I’m wearin’ you down, Legs,” he repeated.

“Nope.”

“It’s happening, babe.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Straight up, you say ‘no’ one more time and I’m gonna shut you up real fast in a way you’ll really fuckin’ like but won’t admit to liking. Think about that.”

I thought about it, for all of two seconds, because I was still tipped forward, meaning Jamie’s hand was still wrapped tight around my arm keeping me tipped forward and that quickly became the only thing I could think about.

“No, Loser, you are not wearing me down,” I grated. “Now let go of me or I’ll—”

My threat slid down the back of my throat as I gasped and pitched forward with a yank, Jamie’s one hand staying firm on my arm while his other slid past my cheek, pushing through my hair to grip and hold me at the base of my neck. I was startled, but I didn’t have time to react, pull away, scream, cry out. I couldn’t do anything before his mouth was colliding with mine and he was kissing me, firm and fast and determined, and since my lips were already parted from the gasp, Jamie took that as an invite and tilted my head, angled our mouths together, and pushed his tongue inside.

That was when the kiss became a kiss.

The kind that should be done behind closed doors.

The kind that made your toes curl and your pulse race.

The kind you told your girlfriends about and commemorated with a diary entry.

Jamie tasted good. Too good. And he kissed even better. I couldn’t deny it.

That was why when I wanted to fight or twist or bite down, I didn’t, and the only reaction I gave was a moan that rolled off my tongue and onto his, which was a huge, huge mistake because he heard it and felt it, his eyes flashing open a second after mine and his grip on my neck tensing.

He pulled back slightly to stare, then growled a “Fuck” I felt roll right up my spine while his gaze held wild with so many things.

Want. Shock. Curiosity. And that unmistakable look someone had when they were right.

Knowing I’d been had, I jerked back abruptly enough that he was caught off guard, freeing myself from his grasp, then I spun around and bolted across the restaurant.

Yep. I was running. I had no other choice.

I weaved between tables, passing the kitchen and the counter, where Kali was still standing, and giving her a “cover me” look she read loud and clear.

I knew she saw the kiss. I was sure everyone in Whitecaps saw the kiss.

And I was still feeling that kiss, panicking because I was still feeling it and because I let it happen in the first place.

That wasn’t my only problem, because honestly? I more than felt it. I liked it. I moaned.

   
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