thinking that he had had way too much to be comfortable saying what he was, doing what he was. “Come on, stand up. I’ll stay here with Al so he doesn’t steal the picture of your mom.”
I stood, still holding his hand and gently pulling him up with me. A part of me wanted this, but the smarter, wiser part knew it was a mistake.
“I am not drunk,” Trent said firmly, standing before me without a waver to his stance. “I don’t need to be drunk to say you have nice hair.”
A flutter lifted through me, and I shoved it away.
“And I do not want to go back to my apartments,” he said. “I want to go for coffee. Al isn’t going to wake up.” His eyes were on mine, and my heart pounded when he let them drop to my lips. “I am not drunk.”
“I wouldn’t care if you were.”
Trent’s arms were around me, and they felt right. “No, I want you to know that I do not need to be drunk to kiss you.”
“Um . . .” I started, heart pounding more when he leaned in, slowly, hesitantly, stopping just shy of my lips. All I had to do was lift my chin. Breath held, I did.
With a gentle pressure, our lips met. His hands slipped more firmly about me, and I held myself back, not afraid, but wanting to feel everything slowly as I leaned in, tasting the wine on him, feeling the warmth of his body pressing into mine, breathing in our scents that were mingling and changing with the warmth. My hands rose to find his hair, and I relaxed into him as the silky strands brushed through my fingers. I wanted more, and I leaned into him as our lips moved against each other.
I pushed him off balance, and he took a step back, our lips parting even as he pulled me to him closer yet as I stumbled forward into him. The rush of the kiss pounded through me, and I stared at him, breathless, seeing in his eyes that he was not drunk. He was stone-cold sober, and it scared me. “Why did you do that?” I whispered.
He half smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t know,” he said, his grip on me becoming more sure. “But I’m going to do it again.”
Trent’s lips on mine hesitated, then became more demanding. Passion ran through me. Heart pounding, I jerked as his back found the wall. It was intoxicating, and realizing I wanted to reach behind his waistband, I stopped.
Breathless, I backed up from him. The warmth from his lips slowly cooled. My lungs heaved, and I stared at him, not as shocked as I thought I would be. “This isn’t going to work,” I said, scared. “You’re going to get married to Ellasbeth and be what everyone needs you to be.”
He reached out and slowly pulled me to him. Tense, I stood as he ran a hand through my hair. My eyes closing, I tilted my head to feel his fingers on my face. Reaching up, I took his hand in mine, leaving a kiss in his palm as I curved his fingers around it and lowered his hand between us.
“Yes, I know,” he said, coming closer until our hands pressed between both of us, and I trembled as he kissed my cheek. My passion pulled to the breaking point, I opened my eyes as I felt him draw away. I wanted this, but I knew better.
“You want to go for a coffee?” he said, shocking me. “The-men-who-don’t-belong might be there, or a demon catching a cup of caffeine. I hear they will give a lot for a good cup of Joe. Al isn’t going to wake up until long after sunrise.”
Slowly my pounding heart began to ease. “Or maybe we can just talk.”
Trent smiled. “We can try,” he said, taking up the lantern and opening the door.
Cool night air spilled in, but it did nothing to dampen the memory of his hands on me, touching my skin, bringing tingles to life, bringing me to life.
“What are the chances that nothing is going to happen?” he said as I followed him onto the slate threshold and passed it. “You attract trouble, Rachel Morgan.”
Looking at him standing beside me in the darkness, I had to agree.
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