A Dash of Spice

Ciara wasn’t sure it was wise to accept that statement as fact. So she waved a dismissive hand in the air and went back to safer ground. Telling him, “The only true stat I cling to regarding the landing is that Bradford determined the cargo area of this ship could hold nearly two-hundred casks of wine. My kind of guy.” She tapped the pad of her index finger against her temple. “He was thinking ‘big picture’. Had his priorities straight.”

Scout stared at her a few moments. One corner of his mouth lifted.

“What?” Ciara asked.

“Christ, you even make history sexy. Your eyes are all lit up. You’re breathless. You’re just so…charged.”

She knew her expression turned lascivious. “Who says any of that has to do with history?”

“Hmm. You temptress, you.”

He closed in on her. Ciara took several steps backward. Pointed to her left. “Note the schematics for damaging the hull of the ship if the ladies decide the Mayflower actually did land on a rock. And the new sets. The props. The…” Her pulse skyrocketed. He continued to advance on her, his eyes blazing with lust.

They made it to the back of the building. Scout reached around her and flipped off the secondary light switches. Darkness didn’t quite consume them, because there were tons of windows high up top on the walls, and partially shrouded moonlight streamed through the long, narrow panes, casting shimmering, silver rays.

His body pressed to hers, trapping her between his brick wall of a chest and the clapboard wall behind her. His head dip. His lips skimmed over her cheek.

He murmured, “I just can’t be in the same room with you and not be dying to kiss you.”

“I don’t recall ever complaining about that.”

His hands gripped her waist. His mouth swept over hers. Then he quietly told her, “I literally take one look at you and I can’t focus on anything else. It’s a damn good thing you weren’t able to be at my pro games because you were traveling. I never would have scored.”

“Well, you would have with me.” She batted her lashes.

Scout let out a low, sensuous groan. “The only thing that kept me focused at the Olympics was that you were sitting next to my mother in the stands. That’ll keep a guy’s libido in check.”

“I’ll remember that when it’s absolutely necessary. Other than that… I should make it a habit to not be in the same room with the woman when you’re around. If it means you’re going to keep your hands off me.”

“You’re amusing.”

“I’m in desperate need of you kissing me.”

His mouth sealed with hers and Ciara gave herself over to his hot, intense kiss. One that swore allegiance to her and demanded it in return.

An entirely different kind of kiss.

It nearly melted her at his feet. Hard, hot, searing. Full of emotion. Questions. Answers.

Jesus.

It was not at all a familiar kiss. And she’d been kissing Scout Winchester since she was fifteen years old!

His arms wrapped around her and his tongue delved deep into her mouth. His body was strong and solid against her softer curves. He held her firmly. Possessively. And just kept on kissing her.

Ciara never had trouble losing herself in Scout. Yet this was something altogether foreign. Like if someone were to ask her what her name was at that very moment…she’d have no fucking idea what to say.

Nothing registered in her mind or existed in her world…other than Scout.

His jacket around her shoulders slipped away. She didn’t care.

There was a cocktail reception she was supposed to be at. She didn’t care.

There was a dinner to host. It was a buffet and everything was all set, so… Yeah. She didn’t care.

As he continued to kiss her, to sweep her away, Scout’s hand slid over her hip and along her outer thigh. To the hem of her mini. Then slipped under it. His fingers grazed the lacy tops of her stocking.

His mouth tore from hers. “Oh, fuck. You are not—”