Yeah. The alcohol was still talking. Meaning she should absolutely not say one word until he was gone and she was alone. And even then she’d remain quiet because she’d be a straight-up wacko if she spent the rest of the night talking to herself about the man she was currently lusting after even though she shouldn’t, right?
“Wren.” He jiggled her in his arms, and she made a low murmuring sound, feigning sleep. Her lips brushed against his skin and he went completely still. “Wake up.”
His voice was scratchy and strained, like she was pushing him close to the edge, but she kept her eyes tightly closed. Not wanting to see him. Not wanting him to see her. He readjusted his hold on her, clutching her even tighter, and a full-body shiver moved through her.
He felt it too. Of course, he did.
“Wren.” A pause. He cleared his throat. “Baby.” Another pause, his fingers tightening their grip on her. “Wake up.”
Ooh, his saying her name in that dark-as-sin voice of his and then calling her baby? She may as well end up a melted puddle on the floor. “Mmm, what?” she asked irritably. Seriously, she was irritated. She wanted a few more moments to pretend that something would happen between them. It was better than the bitter disappointment she knew she’d experience once he was gone.
Wren cracked her eyes open, staring at his chest. Where did that thought come from?
“I need your keys,” he said. “I can’t open your front door without them.”
“They’re in the front pocket of my shorts.” Let’s see him try to grab those keys too. Any other time she’d bat his hands away and tell him to back off.
Not right now though.
“Swear to God, woman, you’re trying to torture me,” he muttered under his breath as he wrapped one arm tight around her and reached for the front of her shorts with his other hand. His fingers skimmed along her waist, shifting downward so he practically groped her crotch.
She squeezed her thighs together with a squeal, and he immediately jerked his hand away from her. “Sorry.”
Wren said nothing, pressing her lips together when those sure fingers slipped into her front pocket and latched around her keys. It felt nice, him touching her.
Tate pressed the keys into her hand. “Unlock the door.”
“But . . . ”
“Do it, Raven.” He stepped closer to her front door so it was in arm’s reach.
Ooh. Back to the bird name-calling again. Growling under her breath, she thrust out her arm, the keys clutched in her fingers as she pushed the key into the lock, turning it with a vicious twist. Stupid man and his stupidly irritating jokes. All her earlier dreamy kissing thoughts evaporated as she struggled against his hold. She wanted out of his arms.
She wanted him out of here.
“Let me go,” she demanded as he kicked the door open and strode inside her dark and tiny living room.
He set her down carefully and stepped away the moment her feet hit the floor, holding his hands up in front of him. “Guess you’re awake now.”
Tate was lucky she didn’t knee him in the balls. Ugh. One minute she actually wanted to make out with him and the next she didn’t even want him standing in the same room with her.
Which he was doing, by the way. Standing. In the same room with her. Filling it up with his arrogantly sexy presence, making her want to do something crazy.
Like jump him.
Nooooo. No, no, no. No jumping Tate Warren. Get him out of here. He makes you mad. He doesn’t make you happy. Like . . . ever.
“I’m wide awake. I’ve also completely come to my senses.” She tilted her chin up and narrowed her gaze, hoping she looked strong and capable. By the amusement she saw sparkling in his too-pretty eyes, she figured she looked silly instead. She still wouldn’t back down though. “Thank you for the ride. You can go now.”
He cocked a brow. “Don’t you want me to tuck you in?”
No. No way did she want him to do that. What if he gave her a sweet, soft good-night kiss with those perfect lips of his, only for her to wrap her hand around his neck to keep him in place and pull him into her bed, and next thing they knew, they’d be tangled up in the sheets . . .
“I could sing you a song,” he continued, just before he did indeed sing her a song. “ ‘Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.’ ” Tate started to laugh.
While her blood started to boil. “Get. Out.” She bit the words out, tired of the mocking way he teased her. It wasn’t funny anymore. None of it was.
No, more like it was frustrating. And confusing. Deep down inside, she knew she had a major, raging, out-of-control crush on Tate Warren.