The Charmer (Harbor City 2)

“And isn’t that why we’re doing this?” she asked, looking out the window as the bright lights of Harbor City flew by instead of at him.

“Exactly.” Which did nothing to explain the iron ball in the pit of his stomach. He knew better than to order scallops on a Saturday night. Everyone knew the fresh fish came in on Monday. Obviously, The Crane and Berry had served him shitty scallops.

“So I should call him tomorrow,” she said, reaching for her purse as the Uber turned the corner onto her street.

“No.” It came out hard and fast, a verbal reaction more than a thought.

“Why not?”

Why not? Because of a million reasons that Hudson didn’t even understand. “Because.”

She straightened in her seat, ready for battle. “You’ll need to do better than that.”

“Because you have to make him work for it.” Yeah, that sounded good. Maybe.

“Is this really your advice or is this because of the other night?” There was no missing the vulnerability in her tone.

“That was just a lesson.” Keep telling yourself that, chump. “And this is another one. You need to let him stew for a bit.” God knew the idiot deserved it. The car slowed as it approached her block and the streetlights’ glimmer caught in her hair and realization struck him right between the eyes. The delay wasn’t for the moron, it was for him. The other moron. “You never want something as bad as when you can’t have it.”

She fiddled with a tendril of hair. “I don’t know…”

“I know just how to make this work.” He had no fucking clue how to make this work. He just knew he wasn’t ready for her to see Captain Clueless again. He had to get her away from Harbor City. The car stopped in front of her apartment. “Pack an overnight bag. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out tomorrow.” And so would he, because he had no fucking clue where he could hide her for a few days.

She started to open the car door and get out and then hesitated, looking at him as if she was waiting for more, wanting more. He sure as hell did, too, but they didn’t want the same thing—not really. Then the tip of her pink tongue snuck out, wetting her bottom lip and dragging his attention to one of the many cock-hardening parts of her. How many times had he pictured those lips wrapped around him like they had been the other night? Too fucking many. Not nearly enough.

Don’t kiss her. Don’t do it. Shove her out of the car and tell the driver not to stop until your brain takes back over for your prick.

It was good advice. The best advice. Too bad his dick was such a…well…dick in every sense of the word. Her hand was still on the door handle and one foot on the pavement when he threaded his fingers through the silk of her brown hair. The move was perfect for tugging her back against him, but he didn’t need to—she came on her own, tumbling back against him, her eyes already hooded and her glossy lips parted.

He barely heard her mumble something about transference over the blood rushing through his ears on its journey to his cock as his lips crashed down against hers. She tasted of red wine and temptation—two things that had fast become his very fucking favorite—then he swept his tongue inside her sweet mouth. Her tongue met his, twisting and teasing him in strokes that sent a jolt of electricity straight to his cock. God, this woman. How the hell Captain Clueless had missed this for all these years was beyond him. He couldn’t get enough of her, of the way she moved against him and moaned into his mouth. His fingers tightened in her hair, pulled her head back, and let him deepen the kiss. Every bit of testosterone in him demanded he lay claim to her now, make her his. Tonight. Now. But that couldn’t be. The realization was enough to make him ease back even as his body fought against it, and she moaned her disapproval until the only parts of them still touching were their foreheads and his fingers in her hair as they fought to regain their breath.

He needed to get her out of his system. Take her someplace where no one would know to look. The idea hit him with the subtlety of the F-Train headed uptown and just as surprisingly. He couldn’t take her there. He never took anyone there. His gaze dropped to her kiss-swollen lips. It was the only place he wanted to go with her.

Forcing himself, he sat back and let her hair slip between his fingers. “See you tomorrow at eight, Matches.”

She blinked, questions brewing in her blue eyes, but instead of bulldogging the point, she just nodded and stepped out of the Uber, closing the door behind her and leaving him to wonder if he’d totally lost his mind. The answer, obviously, was fuck yes.

Chapter Thirteen

When her cell rang the next morning, Felicia was still dripping wet from the shower. It was only seven. There was only one person who’d call her this early on a Saturday. A quick glance at Caller ID confirmed it.

She hit the speaker button, propped the phone on the counter, and continued to dry off. “Hey, sis. Ready to finally spill all the gossip from your girls’ weekend in Vegas? You’re not allowed to go on a trip and then work back-to-back shifts at the hospital ever again. I need my gossip.”

“Why do you sound weird?” Her older sister said, straddling that line between curious, suspicious, and concerned that every emergency room nurse seemed to get after their first year on the job.

Felicia wrapped her hair in the towel and tucked in the ends. “You’re on speaker, and I’m in the bathroom.”

“Do not tell me what you’re doing.”

“Relax, I just got out of the shower—I’m not on the toilet.”

“Thank God because that’s just nasty. Do you know how much bacteria is on your phone already. Why would you add more?”

“Everybody poops,” Felicia said, slipping on a spa-weight robe that helped keep her warm in the draft coming through the opaque window in her bathroom despite it being shut tight—or at least as tight as it could be (thank you, extra thick wooden dowel jammed inside the frame to keep it from opening any farther).