“Nope,” Phoebe says once she’s gotten control of herself. “New plan: just don’t refer to my nipples at all.”
“But I love them,” Mac says. “They’re my fourth favorite part of your body.”
Simone groans as Deiss turns on the light and we all head toward the living area. “Please don’t list them in order.”
“Number one,” Mac says, his eyes brightening.
Phoebe clamps a hand over his mouth and promptly shrieks. “He licked me,” she says, sliding off his back and falling onto the recliner.
Mac squeezes in with her, then takes the whole thing over, shifting her onto his lap. “Of course I did. If something touches your mouth, you lick it. It’s just a basic survival instinct. It’s how you figure out if something is poisonous.”
Simone side-eyes me as she passes, and I fake a smile, but Deiss’s words keep looping through my brain. I wanted to drag you under the stairs and peel that leather off you with my teeth. They heat my skin with the friction of their path. Covertly, I watch Deiss saunter into the kitchen. Without making a conscious decision, I follow him.
“You think you find out if something is poisonous by licking it?” Simone asks, settling on the opposite end of the couch from them. “That’s your survival instinct?”
“Well, I’m not a king,” Mac says, as if Simone is the stupid one. “I don’t have a cupbearer to do it for me.”
Deiss doesn’t turn around when I come up behind him. He continues staring into the open liquor cabinet like there’s a story written across the labels. I know he’s aware of my presence, though. I can see it in the tightening of his back.
“You never answered Phoebe’s question.” I say the words quietly, even though Simone and Phoebe and Mac are clearly too busy arguing about poison to pay attention to us.
“I didn’t,” he says without turning around.
“Why didn’t you want to give Brad my number?” I ease up to the counter next to him.
He’s silent for long enough that I start to think he’s not going to answer at all.
“Do you really want to do this?” he says finally. He turns toward me, leaning against the counter so the open cabinet is behind his head. His eyes are hooded when they meet mine. “Let’s just hang out with our friends. We’ll wake up tomorrow and have coffee and walk to the shop, and everything will stay exactly like it’s been.”
I nod instinctively, because it’s obvious that’s what he wants me to do, and because it does sound good. I want everything to stay exactly like it’s been, because somehow, despite the fact that everything I’ve ever worked for has disappeared, these last two weeks have been the happiest of my life.
The problem is those words. I wanted to drag you under the stairs and peel that leather off you with my teeth. I can’t unhear them, no matter how badly I might want to.
“No,” I say firmly. “I want to do this.”
He sighs and lifts his hand, rubbing it over his head.
“Deiss,” I say sharply. “Why?”
His eyes smolder, and he gives a decisive nod. “Because I didn’t want to.”
Without taking his eyes off mine, he drops his hand from his head to the expanse of leather beneath my chest. Leaving a trail of fire, it slips down, until it hits the bare skin of my waist just above my pants. I gasp at the feel of his fingertips against my skin, but I stop breathing entirely when he slides two fingers beneath the button of my jeans and curls them toward him, tugging me forward.
He tilts his head down as our bodies meet, his scruffy chin tickling my cheek as he breathes into my ear. His hand slips around to the small of my back, his thumb stroking a trail along the exposed skin. Goose bumps prickle over my body.
“I got jealous,” he whispers, “because he’s allowed to want you and I’m not.”
He moves his hands to either side of my waist, and then, as quickly as he’s pulled me in, he shifts me away from him. My legs have gone all wobbly, and I lean against the counter, blinking at him with a combination of wonder and sharp, visceral lust.
“What do you say, guys?” He calls out the words, his eyes still smoldering like he’s considering bending me over the counter and having his way with me. “Are we drinking whiskey tonight? Or gin?”
CHAPTER 19
Despite pouring a seemingly endless stream of drinks for our friends, Deiss never refills his own. I know because I can’t stop watching him. I’m riveted by the way his mouth moves when he talks, captivated by the way it wraps around his glass when he finally takes a sip. If he were a show, I’d be a binge-watcher, memorizing every movement and line.