I shrug. “She’s sweet.”
He barks a laugh, dipping his chin toward his chest, and dropping his hand. “Sometimes. Yeah.” He takes a few steps back; it’s then that I notice what he’d been hiding beneath his jacket and the button down he’d worn the first time we met.
His skin is covered in ink, from his wrists, all the way up and under the sleeves of his fitted tee. I barely have time to take in the art or contemplate this new puzzle piece of this man before his eyes catch sight of my feet again. Then he’s all business. The line of his jaw is hard, stern, and that almost smile is long gone. He looks angry, either with me or with himself for forgetting.
“You didn’t tell me where your car is.”
“I, uh, didn’t bring it. It’s still back at my apartment.”
He frowns, and I hope he’ll just assume that I caught a cab.
“And you don’t know where your shoes are?”
I shrug and smile because I’m pretty positive I’m better off sticking to nonverbal communication at the moment. Just smile and look pretty, that usually works for most things.
He shakes his head and says, “I’ll take you home. But my car is a bit of a walk from here.”
“It’s fine. I’ll just catch a cab.”
He lifts an eyebrow and says, “Do you have money?”
I glance down, and sure enough, he’s right. I don’t have anything with me. No purse, no wallet, nothing. I’m not even sure how I got into that club without an ID. I must have charmed the bouncer, but I don’t really remember.
When I don’t answer he says, “Right. My car it is then.”
He surveys me again, then turns to the side a little and says, “Hop on.”
I blanch. “Hop on?”
“It’s about five or six blocks to my car. No way I’m letting you walk all that way barefoot. I’d carry you in my arms, but …” He trails off, and his eyes linger along the hem of my dress that falls loose around my thighs and would no doubt flash the world if he were to hold me against his chest.
He clears his throat, and when he looks back at me, his eyes are hooded and his gaze drops briefly to my mouth. He turns away quickly and says again, his voice clipped, “Hop on.” I step up behind him and lay my hands atop his shoulders. The muscles bunch and harden beneath my touch, and I know my assumption that day at the grocery store was correct. He might spend his days hiding beneath business clothes, but he has an incredible body beneath.
“How do I …”
“Jump,” he answers. “I’ll catch you.”
I take a deep breath, and rather than jumping straight away, I move close and lift one leg up to wrap around his hip. He reaches a hand back to grip my thigh, and it ends up half on the fabric of my dress, half on my bare skin. I feel him suck in a breath, and before I can think too much about it, I dig my fingers into his shoulders and jump, lifting my other leg.
He catches me as promised, but my dress has ridden up around my thighs so his other hand curls around bare flesh. I wrap one arm over his shoulder, and down onto his chest so I don’t choke him by wrapping it around his neck. I reach down with the other to pull at my dress and make sure all the necessary parts of me are covered. The fabric slides down a little, covering part of his hand, but he doesn’t bother adjusting his grip so he’s not beneath my dress.
I fold my other arm around him to hold on, and I swear I can feel his heart racing beneath my hand. My chest presses against his hard back, and he doesn’t move for several long moments.
“Wilder?”
He clears his throat and answers, his voice strained, “Just … trying to remember which direction my car is in.”
He starts walking then, and I’m all too aware of the heat that’s burning where our bodies press together. He pauses to shift me higher, gripping my legs a little harder, and the friction of my front against his back makes a moan form low in my throat. I pause long enough to be thankful that he gave me his jacket, otherwise he would feel the way my nipples have tightened into hard little buds because of his closeness. Somehow, putting on a bra didn’t occur to altered me.
“So,” I say, trying to distract myself. “Gwen is your little sister. That makes you how much older than her?”
“She’s five, and I’m twenty-three, so about eighteen.”
“Wow,” I say.
He laughs. “Yeah, we were all a little shocked when she happened.”
“Are you close?”
“Getting there. I wasn’t around much when she was born. I was already out of the house and on my own, but … well, things are different now. I’ve been trying to make an effort to be around more for the last year or so.”
My head hovers over his shoulder, close to his ear and I reply quietly, “I bet she’s glad to have you back. Your parents, too.”
He nods, some of his curls brushing my cheek, but quickly shifts the focus to me. “What about you? Any siblings?”
I hesitate, my usual lie on the tip of my tongue. Normally, I start out from the beginning saying no family. It keeps people from asking unwanted questions. But this time … I don’t know what’s different.
“Sisters. But we’re estranged. I haven’t seen or spoken to them in … well, a long time.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice is low and sincere, and it makes me want to lean my head against his shoulder.
I do just that when I reply, “It’s okay. I’m over it.” Have had a long time to get there.
The road we’re on begins to slope upward, and he grips me tighter. I do the same, feeling bad that he has to carry me all this way.
“Well, you know how old I am. What about you?”
I stifle a laugh. Wouldn’t that be something if I told him the truth? He’d drop me off at the hospital for a psych-consult rather than at my apartment.
“Twenty-one.” Perpetually.
I feel him shift, and I lift my head off his shoulder only to find him turned sideways toward me, our lips inches apart.
It takes him a moment to say what’s on his mind, and when he does, his voice is husky. “You sure? You look … young.”
I laugh, and my voice might be a little breathy too. “If you’re worried about me being underage. I promise … I’m not.”
He stops then by a dark SUV and says, “This is me.”
He lets go of one of my legs to fish for his keys, and I tighten my thighs around his waist. He pauses, ducking his head and bracing an arm against the vehicle. After a shuddering breath, he unlocks the car with the press of a button and pulls open the passenger side door. He turns and leans until my backside meets the leather seat. For a moment, I have to resist the urge to squeeze my arms and legs around him, to not let him go, but common sense wins out, and I let them fall slack.