“What can I say? Fishing and beer go together, but not when knives are involved.”
She wagged a finger at him. “You gotta be careful there, Jake.”
“I know, I know. Maybe if I catch anything tomorrow, I could find a mermaid to help me.”
“Mermaids don’t like it when you catch fish. Or turtles.”
“That is true. Pretend I never said that. I would never catch a fish. I’m absolutely not here on a fishing trip. In fact, I’m here to admire the gorgeous scenery.”
She nodded approvingly. “Much better answer.”
He pointed to her glass, nearly empty. “Can I get you another whiskey?”
“It’s iced tea, actually, and I’m trying to cut back, so I’m all good.”
“Been hitting the caffeine too hard?”
She nodded solemnly. “Evidently, when I drink too much, it makes me say things I shouldn’t say. Like totally hot guy in a bar.”
He grinned and held up the glass as if to ask for more. “Let’s make it a double,” he said, and after they chatted more about fish and the sea and the Islands, he pointed to the dartboard. “Since you have that dart certification and all, any chance you can give me a few pointers?” he asked, standing up to grab a dart from the board. He returned and held it out to her. She rose and moved closer, and when she reached for the end, he wrapped a hand around her wrist and tugged her in close.
Just like that. The gauntlet was thrown. The move was made. She was in his arms. Poised. For something more. For this moment to unspool into something else. A ribbon of heat raced through her body as she catalogued everything. His gaze held her hostage. His green eyes blazed darkly as he stared at her like he wanted to eat her up. That fierce look made her shudder. She was so close she could breathe him in, and his skin smelled so damn good. Like sunshine and showers. And he was hard everywhere. Not just there, because she wasn’t exactly in that spot, but his arms, and his abs, and his legs.
His fingers curled around her waist, gripping her as Jack Johnson sang about banana pancakes and pretending it’s the weekend all the time.
“Three things,” he whispered, his voice all rough and hot, turning her on before he even uttered another word. “One, I want to kiss you. Two, I’m going to kiss you. Three, if you don’t want me to, say no now. Otherwise . . .”
He inched closer. She parted her lips, and a small sigh escaped. “Yes.”
She closed her eyes and waited. In that second before his lips met hers, the wondrous thrill of anticipation weaved through her body. The hope that kissing a stranger named Jake in a bar would be worth it. That he wouldn’t kiss like a slobbery Saint Bernard, all tongue and exuberance. Nor like a schoolboy, hell-bent on vacuuming up her lips. Call her greedy, call her needy, or just call her a woman who hadn’t been kissed well in a long while.
But she wanted that kiss.
The kind that made your knees weak.
That sent your heart fluttering.
That spread warmth on a sweet, shivery path through your chest.
His lips met hers. His were so damn soft, and full, and delicious. He didn’t rush it. He took his time, exploring her mouth, brushing his lips over hers, tasting her. That tingly sensation sped up, shooting through her, like an injection of pure, unadulterated pleasure as she melted into his kiss.
He was snug against her, and she savored it—the delicious press of his body as he swept his lips across hers, his touch making her moan. The kiss deepened as he ran his fingertips along her bare arm, igniting her skin. He dropped his hand to her lower back, angling her closer, and oh, how she’d craved this kind of closeness. Badly. She wanted to climb him. She wanted to feel him above her, moving in her, holding her tight. This rampant desire was a matchstick. Roping her arms around his neck, she curled her fingers into the ends of his hair.
Oh, that soft hair. God, it felt good between her fingers as she slid them through his golden brown strands, tugging lightly.
He groaned and yanked her even closer. The quick shift in tempo moved the kiss up the heat ladder into something hungrier. He held her face in his hands, a thoroughly possessive gesture, as he kissed her so hard his stubble left a whiskery burn.
The evidence of a consuming kiss.
Her mind spun wild with images. Pictures of this night turning into something else. Kisses under the stars. Hips, legs, lips moving together. Him wrapping her tighter in his caress, whispering sweet, dirty things he wanted to do to her. In the heat of his kiss, in the urgency of his touch, she had the raw materials to feed her imagination.
Her heart raced. Her blood pumped. She craved him fiercely.
Which was absolutely loony, since he was a total stranger.
But maybe that’s what fueled her desire. They had no history. They had no past. There was no damage or pain between them. He hadn’t hurt her, he hadn’t lied to her, and he hadn’t tried to fling her business into the trash. No, he had one agenda, it seemed. The same one she had.
Let’s spend the night together.
He backed her up against the wall, next to the dartboard, her spine hitting the wood with a thump. The sound of it was like a door shutting. Like the moment when a kiss turns from we’re trying this on for size to this kiss won’t stop at kissing. He cupped the back of her neck, and his other hand clasped her hip, yanking her against him, so she could feel him.
She could feel all of him.
Lust skyrocketed in her, on a mad dash to cloud her reason, her judgment, to ambush all remaining sanity. To simply crush the logical, thoughtful portions of her brain. Lock them up and throw away the key, so she could go somewhere, anywhere, with Jake and let him—