“You’re drunk.”
“I’m getting there, but you’re still beautiful.” His eyes narrowed. “And sober.”
She folded her legs under her and turned her body toward his. “Honey, the man I dated my last two years of college and all through grad school came from a family of whiskey distillers. Me and Tennessee do just fine.”
He leaned forward, lifted the bottle off the table, and splashed some more in her glass. “Drink up.”
“You think you can get me wasted? You’ll pass out trying.”
He raised one dark brow at her. “I’ve got body weight and dehydrogenase in my favor.”
“Be that as it may, I can drink you under the table.”
“Is that a challenge, Smith?”
“It’s a fact, Montgomery.” Just to prove her point, she picked up her glass and tossed back the shot. “Your turn.” She poured another two fingers in his tumbler, handed it to him, and set the bottle aside. Enough alcohol. She had better ways to give him a temporary respite from the worry weighing on his mind. He downed the drink, those expressive lips twisting into a grimace as he swallowed.
“Now let’s test your reflexes.” She hiked the hem of her dress above her knees, slung one leg over his lap and straddled him. He grasped her hips as she arranged herself on his hard thighs.
When she stilled, he cradled her butt in his big hands and scooted her closer. “I passed,” he said against the side of her throat.
She cupped his cheeks and drew his head back. “That wasn’t the test. This is.” She lowered her mouth to his and sank into a long, slow, whiskey-soaked kiss. His head tipped back against the sofa, and she thought for a moment he might let her have her way with him, but then long fingers tangled in her hair, and he leaned forward, changing the angle of the kiss. His reflexes were still pretty sharp, but hers were sharper. The knowledge sent a shiver along her spine. Beau tended to storm her senses, leave her shuddering, gasping, and utterly at his mercy, but this time the tables would turn. She reached down between their bodies, grabbed two handfuls of his sweater, and pulled it over his head.
“I love your chest,” she said between kisses, and let her hands run all over the warm, smooth terrain, from the hard planes of his pecs to the channel between, which ran due south and provided a perfect path to guide her fingers down his abs. Her tongue tingled to follow the same route.
“Coincidentally, I feel the same about yours,” he murmured, and drew her dress up. She raised her arms and let him peel it off, but shifted away when he leaned close and reached for the back clasp of her bra.
“Uh-uh. Keep those hands to yourself. I’m not finished testing your reflexes.” She ran her fingertips over the ridges of muscle bracketing his abs, all the way to where they disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.
“Savannah.” His low voice vibrated with warning.
“Yes, Beau?” She traced the edge of his waistband until her fingers arrived at his fly. The bulge straining the line of buttons there jumped under the brush of her hand, but his fingers intercepted hers.
“Four shots of whiskey have an effect on a man’s reflexes.”
“I’ll be the judge.” She wiggled her fingers out of his grasp and went back to work on his fly.
“No you won’t. I made you a firm promise a while back. You get nothing short of my best every single time I’m inside you, or…Jesus that feels good.”
She swept her thumb again over the smooth head peeking from the waistband of his underwear, this time lingering longer to explore the small opening at the center. He groaned and flexed his hips.
“See, you’ve got excellent reflexes.” She slipped off his lap and onto her knees, parted his jeans, and freed him the rest of the way from his boxer briefs. He raised his head and their eyes met. While he watched, she traced a fingertip along the length of his shaft.
“They’re improving by the second, but—”
“Just one last test.” The big, strong, invincible man she loved needed an escape, and she could provide one. Leaning in, she kissed the very tip of his erection. “Don’t worry, it’s painless.”
Despite her promise, when she parted her lips and slowly took him into her mouth, she wrung a low, tortured curse out of him. “Fuck it, Savannah. You’re killing me.”
She reversed course, appreciating the hitch in his breath, and then paused to look at him. “But you’ll die with a smile on your face.”
“You’re determined to take me down, huh?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She let the response vibrate around him, loving how his eyelids suddenly struggled with gravity, and flags of color unfurled across his cheekbones. A large hand cupped the back of her head, guiding her, but not usurping control.
When she dug into his jeans and cupped his balls, he murmured her name.
“Hmm?” Oh yeah, he liked that. The hand on her head tightened.