About Last Night

Without the least bit of warning, he kissed her. Not a preamble sort of kiss, either. No, he really kissed her, one huge hand cupping the back of her neck, and his warm, firm lips knew exactly what they were doing, which was driving every single thought from her head. Only the man remained, the mouth, the sensations coursing through her, heating her up from the inside. Heating her up fast. Could all bankers kiss like this?

Cath rose on her toes, angling her mouth and pressing closer, but he pulled back a few inches. Then a few feet.

She wanted to say something. The only word that came out of her mouth was a shaky “Whoa.”

She tried again. “What was that, City?”

“You tell me, Yank.” His lips curved into that sexy smirk again.

“I’m pretty sure you just kissed me.”

“Yes, I did. Shall I apologize?”

“What for?”

“It was terribly impolite. I didn’t ask your permission.”

Cath leaned back against the table, crossed her arms over the tight peaks of her nipples, and tried not to smile like a girl who’d just been kissed silly. She failed. She was failing a lot around this guy. It ought to have been worrisome, or at least embarrassing, but his lips had liquefied her brain.

First kiss in two years would do that, she supposed.

“I was much more impolite than you. What with the passing out and all. You’re being very nice about it.”

City scrubbed his hand over his jawline, pensive now. “I would appreciate it,” he said after a moment, “if you would stop calling me ‘nice.’ ”

He took a step closer, and her heart rate spiked.

“You are nice.” Her voice came out all weak and wavery. This was how Little Red Riding Hood had felt when she’d discovered the Big Bad Wolf wearing Grandma’s bonnet.

“No,” he replied. “I’m not.”

Another step, and his eyes traced a path over her arms, down her stomach to her hips. The brightly lit art studio made her purple underwear visible through the white T-shirt. She could tell that City noticed, and that he was enjoying the view.

She sat down on the edge of the table. “You brought me here with impure motives?” The idea gave her a stupid thrill.

He shook his head. “No. I developed them after you arrived.”

Cath fingered the hem of the shirt where it hit her mid-thigh. “You shouldn’t admit to that sort of thing. It’s perverted to lust after half-naked drunk girls.”

“Not perverted.” He stepped closer until his thighs brushed her knees. “Only male. And at any rate, you didn’t get me lusting with the strip show. Though it was … fetching.”

“No?” It was a wonder she could speak at all, considering there was a tall, hard, hot man crowding her and using up all the oxygen. “What irresistibly attractive thing did I do, then?”

One more step, and he was between her legs. “You talked. Rather a lot.”

“About what?”

“All sorts of nonsense. You’re not very fond of my country, I gather.”

Cath shrugged, sheepish. “Sometimes I miss Chicago.”

“I’d never heard you talk before. You ought to do it more. It’s charming.”

“People who talk to themselves at the train station are generally understood to be crazy. Especially in your country.”

“You could talk to me.”

“I hardly know you.”