Baiting Him (How to Catch an Alpha 2)

My lips part in surprise from his words and from the feel of his hand as he tangles his fingers into my hair. My eyes slide closed as he tilts my head, and then my heart stops when his lips touch mine, and a whimper I can’t control slides up my throat when his tongue licks across the seam of my mouth. I open for him, and the kiss deepens, our tongues tangling together, and I latch on to his waist, digging my nails into his sides and feeling nothing but hard muscle under my hands.

He growls, and the vibration of that sound seeps through my skin and settles between my thighs. My mind goes dizzy with desire, and my body begins to buzz with need. I’ve never been kissed like this. I feel the possessive brand of his mouth on mine and his hold, like he’s staking his claim, telling me without words I belong to him. My fingers dig into his flesh, and I groan into his mouth as he slows the kiss and pulls away. When I blink my eyes open, he touches his lips to mine one last time.

I stare into his eyes, which I’m sure match my own with need. “Um . . .” I clear my throat, then say stupidly, “You must really like my cookies.”

His head drops back to his shoulders as he laughs loudly, and then he wraps his arms around me and drops his chin to the top of my head, giving me a tight squeeze. “Yeah, I really fucking like your cookies.”

“Duly noted,” I whisper, feeling his body start to shake with silent laughter before the sound erupts from his chest once more. I’ve never been held by a man when he’s laughing, but I have to admit—I like it a lot.

When he finally gets over the hilarity of my apparent dorkiness, he leans back to look at me. Once more, I’m mesmerized by the look he’s giving me, which means I’m caught off guard when he brushes his mouth over mine and lets me go.

“Let’s get you a drink.”

I don’t tell him that I don’t need a drink; I already feel lightheaded and giddy, like I’ve drunk a bottle of wine just from his kiss. As he seems prone to do, he grabs my hand and leads me with him deeper into the kitchen, where he pours a glass of wine for me, then grabs a beer from a small fridge under the counter for himself. He hands me the glass and then places his hand in the middle of my back, urging me toward his balcony. Having been outside earlier, I know it’s cold, so I brace as he slides the glass open. Surprisingly, warmth radiates toward me, and I follow him out. I seek out the source of the heat warming my skin and notice that there are three outdoor heaters positioned at the top of the ceiling and angled down toward the comfortable-looking couch that is situated against the building.

“This is why I bought this place,” he tells me while moving closer to the edge of the balcony. “Looking out at the ocean from this spot made me feel like I was home in New Jersey.”

I take in the view. Just like from my place, there is nothing but sand and ocean with the moon and stars shining down on it, making it look like a piece of art. Something someone years ago would have painted that today would be sold for millions of dollars.

“It’s a great view, but I have to admit—I never want to see your electric bill, and I really don’t want to be here when the environmental and global warming experts show up and start picketing outside the building.” I smile while glancing at him from the corner of my eye.

He laughs, then wraps one hand around my waist and leans over, touching his lips to the top of my head. “You’re safe from the environmentalists. This is the first time I’ve turned the heaters on since I moved in, and I did it about two minutes after you told me you were here.”

“Good to know you’re taking global warming seriously.”

“Just trying to do my part. I should also mention, in case the powers that be are listening, I also recycle and use reusable shopping bags.”

“Now you’re just showing off,” I say through my laughter, and he chuckles quietly.

Starting to get cold from the breeze coming off the sea, even with his warmth seeping into my side, I step away from him and go to the couch and take a seat, and he does the same, settling right next to me.

“How was dinner with your mom?” he questions, placing his arm around my shoulders and bringing me closer to him.

Normally, I would not be okay with a guy being so touchy, but there is something about the way he does it that makes it feel right.