He held his breath, waiting to see if she would accept one of his options. He didn’t offer door number three: she could go home alone.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. We’ll go watch the stupid fireworks at your place.”
He grinned, his heart picking up speed at her words. She had ignored the obvious option of the unmentioned door number three just as much as he had. “Excellent.”
While they spoke, the bartender had lined up the shots, including the salt and lime slices, and Lexi eyed them dubiously. “Why did she give us salt? Are we making margaritas? Because I’m so down with that.”
She didn’t even know how to take a shot of tequila? Damn, he could have a lot of fun teaching her how to live. He grabbed her hand and flipped her palm up, then ran his thumb over her smooth skin. When she shivered and tried to pull free, he held on tighter and clucked his tongue. Bending over her wrist, he flicked his tongue over her skin. He probably should have let her do it herself, but the opportunity to taste her was far too tempting to resist.
“Oh.” Her cheeks turned pink and she licked her lips. His c**k grew hard, but he tried to ignore his primal reaction. He sprinkled salt on her, and then set down two slices of lime on a plate next to them.
He swallowed past the stifling desire choking him. “Okay, here’s how it works. First you lick the salt, then you take the shot. Once you swallow, suck on the lime. It enhances the flavor.”
She looked up at him with laughter in her eyes. Did she actually know what to do, and was playing with him? If so, he’d continue the game. As long as he got to keep her by his side, he would play any game she wanted. “If you say so … ”
“I do.”
She licked her lips again, her eyes on his hands. “Do I have to lick you, too?”
Oh, bloody hell. He was going to die by the end of the night. He should say no. He should do it himself. He held his arm out. “Yes, please.”
She held his wrist in between her fingers, her touch feather light. Then, without hesitation, she licked him. He shuddered, the urge to take her in his arms and taste her mouth again, overwhelming. He clenched his free hand into a fist, watching as she sprinkled salt on him.
She looked up, her eyes a liquid pool of emerald warmth, speckled with amber. “Ready?”
“Y-Yes.” Bloody hell, his blasted voice broke. Holding a shot glass out to her, he grabbed his and held it out for a toast. She didn’t take hers immediately, but rather stared at it mutinously, so he waved it under her nose again. “Trust me?”
“I’m so going to regret this in the morning.” She eyed the shot, let out a sigh, and took it despite her prediction. “And so are you.”
“Blimey, stop worrying so much.” He grinned, refusing to dwell on the possibility of a hangover. Besides, he’d have all day to sober up for opening night. “It’ll be worth it in the end.”
She took a deep breath. “Okay. Ready?”
“Yes. One. Two.” He paused and looked into her eyes, his breath catching at the sparkle of life he saw there. She might be protesting the shots, but she looked more alive right now than she had all night—except when he’d kissed her. She had looked pretty damned alive then, too. “Three.”
They licked their wrists, slammed their shots back, and sucked on their limes in unison. Pulling the lime away from her mouth, she grinned up at him and swiped her forearm over her chin to clean up a trickle of juice. “That was actually pretty good.”
A tiny piece of lime rested right below her lip, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss it away and taste the blend of alcohol and lime and Lexi. Instead, he settled for reaching forward and swiping it off with his thumb. When he brushed against her lower lip, she flushed and swayed closer. A flash of lust lit up her eyes, and the knowledge that she wanted him in the same way he wanted her hit him like a sucker punch.
Their gazes collided. “Justin?”
“Yes?” he asked, his heart skittering to a halt. What would she say? Would she admit she wanted him as much as he wanted her? Christ, he hoped so. If she didn’t, he just might have to kiss her and find out for himself if he was wrong. If she slapped him and left … he was wrong.
If she pulled him closer and touched her tongue to his … then thank f**king God.
“Can we do another one before we go? If I’m gonna do this, I’m gonna get a proper buzz going.”
The hope rising in his chest crashed back down. Forcing a smile, he motioned the bartender over. She came over carrying the tequila with the same smile on her lips. “Of course.”
They repeated the process of salting their wrists, but this time her tongue lingered on his wrist. So did her touch. He took a deep breath and they slammed back the shots. This time there wasn’t any lime on her mouth, but he brushed his thumb over her lip anyway.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. At first he didn’t even realize he’d said it out loud. But when her eyes widened, he cursed inwardly. Idiot.
“Thank you,” she said back, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
She swayed toward him, her gaze latched with his. He cupped her cheek and stepped closer, breathing in her intoxicating scent, his other palm cupping her hip and tugging her closer. If she so much as stepped back from him, he wouldn’t touch her again. If she shook her head, or slapped him, he would apologize profusely.
Instead, she placed her hand on his chest and closed her fingers around his shirt. And, if he wasn’t mistaken … she damn well pulled him closer. And just like that, he fell arse over elbow into her arms.
He lowered his head, his lips descending to hers so slowly he could swear a year had passed before they touched. He wanted to give her the chance to tell him no—to refuse him if she wanted. Give her the chance he hadn’t given her outside, before he knew about her past. But she lifted her chin and met his lips with a tiny sigh … and he got lost in heaven. It was a simple kiss. A mere touching of their lips. Tamer than the kisses he’d shared with his costars on stage—and yet the most moving he’d ever had.
His heart stuttered when she sighed into his mouth, and she placed her small hands on his chest. He felt like he could give her the world, if only he had enough time. And he really wanted that time, even though she hadn’t promised him any. His grip on her hip tightened, and he ran his tongue over the entrance to her mouth.
She parted her lips, letting him inside, and clung to him tightly. Her tongue glided against his, and he groaned into her mouth. Christ, but the hold she had on him already was honestly frightening. He knew, without a doubt, that she was the type of woman a man would lay his life on the line for.