His gaze drops to my mouth again. His voice comes out husky. “And you want me to kiss you.”
My heart pounding painfully hard, I say faintly, “You’re insane, is that it? You’re a crazy person.”
“You know I’m not.”
“I can honestly say I don’t even know my own name right now.”
“It’s Kayla,” he says softly, then leans in and presses his lips against mine.
It’s barely a kiss. There’s no tongue. There’s hardly any pressure. It’s only the slightest brush of his mouth over mine, then it’s over.
And I’m gasping.
Shaking and gasping for air, because my lungs are being squeezed in a vise and every drop of adrenaline my body can produce has flooded my bloodstream.
That non-kiss was electric.
Staring deep into my eyes, he whispers, “You want another one?”
I pause to take a ragged breath as he watches me from inches away, his eyes feral. “I’m not sure. I’m feeling overwhelmed. My brain isn’t working right, so I can’t really give you an honest yes or no.”
“Okay,” he says, lightly stroking his thumb back and forth over my cheekbone. “You let me know when you decide.”
Then he withdraws and motions to the bartender for another round of drinks.
I almost collapse facedown onto the table, but manage to control myself. I take a gulp of whiskey and let out a heavy, uneven breath. “I won’t be able to drive home if I have any more to drink. Or is that your plan?”
“My plan is to get you naked and find out how you sound when you come.”
“Holy…”
“I don’t want you drunk, though. I want you to remember everything so you come back for more.”
“You sound confident that I would.”
“I am. And you will.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “It must be fantastic to go through life with such self-confidence.”
“It is. I want to kiss you again.”
“Can you please give me a minute to regain my footing? I feel like someone just pushed me off a cliff.”
“You’re fine.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you don’t want to cry anymore.”
I think about that. “You’re right. I don’t.”
“You’re welcome.”
He’s bizarrely self-confident, but I have to admit he’s not cocky. There’s no arrogance in the way he speaks. It’s as if he’s simply stating facts, then letting me decide how I want to react to them.
I don’t know if his straightforwardness is refreshing or weird.
He’s right about one thing, though. I’m not afraid of him. He’s not what you’d call normal, at least in terms of my experience with men, but he only makes me nervous, not afraid.
I think the nervousness could also be described as turned on, but I’m not ready to think about that yet.
I ask, “Would it be okay if we sat across from each other?”
“Sure. Any particular reason why?”
“I’m finding your presence a little overpowering.”
He chuckles. “I’ll move, but I’m just gonna give you a head’s up that I’ll still be overpowering across the table.”
“That’s probably true.”
“Plus, you’ll be forced to look at me. This way, you can avoid my eyes and stare at that ugly painting all you want.”
That makes me smile. “You’re an interesting guy, Aidan, I’ll give you that.”
“Thank you. I think you’re interesting, too.” His voice drops. “Those eyes of yours are fucking amazing.”
My cheeks and ears grow hot again. The heat burns even hotter when he adds, “I want those eyes open when you come for me.”
My mouth goes dry. I have to take another sip of whiskey before I can speak again. “Not that I’m saying I’m going to sleep with you, because I’m not, but just for the sake of conversation, you should know that I’m a light’s-out kind of girl.”
“Not with me, you’re not.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “I really can’t believe this.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because conversations like this don’t happen in real life.”
“Just because you haven’t had them before doesn’t mean they don’t happen.”
He keeps making all these very good points, which is highly irritating. “Are all bachelors nowadays so…”