“I’m the director of communications for Standex Three-D Corporation.”
“Sounds important.”
She shrugged. “Not so much” She glanced at her watch. “Look, I really should go.”
“Too bad,” said Saks. “I’m enjoying your company.”
“Thanks.” She smiled, and finished her drink before sliding out of the booth. “It was really nice meeting you.”
Saks stood as well. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“It’s not necessary. Thank you, though, Anthony Parks.” She smiled again, and walked away from the table.
Saks stood frozen a moment before realizing that she’d walked off with his jacket on her shoulders. He rushed out the door and jogged toward her Cadillac, where she was fumbling with her keys. “Hey!” he called.
She looked up, startled, as Saks skidded to a stop on the blacktop.
“My jacket,” he said, pointing.
Her face blushed with embarrassment. “Oh, shit. Sorry.”
“Here, let me.” He reached to take it off her shoulders. But an impulse struck him and, instead of stripping his colors from her shoulders, he leaned in and kissed her.
He slanted his mouth towards her slow enough not to surprise her, but fast enough so she couldn’t turn her head away. He didn’t know what he was thinking. Or maybe not thinking. As soon as he tasted her on his lips, he never wanted to stop kissing her.
Actually, now he wanted to taste much, much more.
CHAPTER SIX
WHEN the handsome biker’s lips crushed onto hers, Chrissy tried to push him away. At first. But as his mouth melted into hers her brain jumbled, and she couldn’t think of a good reason to keep pushing. Plus, her hands felt like they belonged on his hard chest. He tasted of Jack and Coke, and breathed a fire into her that needed to have more of him. His scent, a mixture of motor oil, cologne, and the indefinable musk of pure man, seeped into her and sucked her in.
He wrapped his strong arms around and drew her closer to his body. And he kissed with a tender, yet insistent passion, that said he would take no less of her than everything she could give.
Not since Riley Warner had kissed her under the bleachers at the Friday night football game in high school had a man stirred need within her. She had been too busy with college, then work, to date seriously. And now this biker popped up out of nowhere, claiming her lips and mouth as if he owned them outright, and she trembled against him. Her knees grew weak, and her heart beat double-time as he leaned his body into hers.
“Why are you so hot?” Saks breathed in her ear. “I can’t get enough of you.”
“Damn,” she muttered. She pressed her hips against him and felt him harden against her. Feeling foolishly bold—or maybe it was the craziness of the night—she slipped her hand to the front of his jeans where his shaft pressed like an iron rod. She stroked its length, marveling at the steel beneath her fingertips, and her breathing hitched.
Saks moaned at her touch. He peppered kisses on her neck and behind her ear, and she pushed her hips into his. “We’re gonna get arrested out here,” he mumbled, but didn’t stop. He pulled her shirt out from her jeans and touched his hand to her breast. His fingers rubbed against the nub of her nipple, making it strain against her bra.
She groaned.
He yanked hard at the back door of her Cadillac.
“What’re you doing?” she said, alarmed.
“Moving things along,” he growled.
“We can’t. Not here.”
“Then give me your keys.”
“Why?”
“Because the only alternative is the backseat of your car.”
“Or we could not do this at all,” she breathed.