Madly (New York 2)

He didn’t kiss her. But his lips and hers occupied the same space, and when he asked, “Like this?” a second time, she wasn’t sure if she heard him with her ears or with telepathy.

Or maybe in the sudden thrumming heat of his chest pressing into her breasts.

This was so stupid. And awkward.

And wrong-hot.

“Yeah. That’s perfect.”

His mouth was unfamiliar in a way she’d completely forgotten about.

“Do you do this often?” he asked.

“Which part?”

That made his eyes crinkle in a way that was caper-interested. Her upper lip brushed against a part of his mouth that her tongue flicked out to test.

His teeth.

She’d licked his teeth.

Oh, God.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

“I’m not sure where to begin.”

He smiled. “I think she’s gone past now.”

Allie straightened, and he moved off her, settling gracefully into his seat and abandoning her to deal with the cool air he left behind and the terrible flush creeping up her neck.

She’d licked his teeth. Mata Hari could probably transfer a priceless ruby from her mouth to that of the enemy with a fly-adjusting soul kiss, and she had licked a stranger’s teeth like a squirmy puppy.

“Wow.” She polished off her rum and Coke in three deep gulps. “That was kind of epic.” She glanced at his face, but it wasn’t the sort of face she knew how to read. It wasn’t a Wisconsin face, like her dad’s, affable and mournful at the same time, or even a New York face, like May’s boyfriend, Ben, who looked like a guy falsely accused of something on Law & Order. This guy’s face was mostly inscrutable, and maybe a little amused, or possibly his face wasn’t even thinking of how it was that a strange woman had just cleaned his teeth. Possibly it was thinking about gold cuff links and mutual funds.

The only thing she could think of to say was, “Whoo.”

He laced his fingers together on his lap. “Big-time,” he said…contemplatively? “I wonder what you meant by that?”

The hair on the back of Allie’s neck stood up. “I guess I was thinking, you know. I could buy you a drink?”

“Is that what constitutes owing someone ‘big-time’ to you?”

“Do you have an alternate proposal?”

“I’ll need to give it some thought.” He smiled again. “In the meantime, I’ll accept the drink.”

“What do you want?”

“Whiskey, neat.”

“Any particular kind?”

“I’m not fussed. But make it a double.”

Allie rose, glanced down the bar, and then dropped back into her chair. “The thing is, I can’t get you a drink.”