“That’s not it — though if you ever want to, I’d love to show you how good that can be — and fuck me, you’re sexy when you blush.” He stroked a finger along the curve of her cheek, and his eyes on her were intent and blatantly aroused.
“What, then?” she managed to say.
“I want to taste you.” His voice was thick, raspy. “I want you to come on my tongue. I want your peach juice all over my face.”
Well, flipping hell. “You can’t really want to… I mean…”
“Oh, believe me, I do.”
“But it’s awkward, and too vulnerable.” Her voice came out small and choked.
Gently, he put his arms around her, pulling her into a hug, brushing softly urgent kisses against her forehead and temples. “Nell. You can trust me. And the thought of going down on you turns me on so hard it makes me dizzy. I won’t push you, but if you’ll let me, that’s what I’d most want to win in this pool game.”
She pushed away from him and took a big gulp of her drink, then another, and the icy slush gave her brain-freeze. “Crap, I can’t drink this as fast as I want to right now,” she grumbled to herself, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Hey,” he said, “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“I know.” She gave him a long look, steeling herself. “And I’ll agree to let you have your prize if you win. I just… I don’t do vulnerable well.”
“Oh, Nella-bella…” For a moment, he looked pole-axed, beyond conscious thought, awash in desire. “And if you win? What will you ask of me?”
Focus. What do I want from him? “Well, I’m not fragile, right? I won’t break if you play a little rough.”
His eyebrows shot up at that. She’d surprised him, then.
“I could do that for you,” he said slowly. He picked up her cue and held it out to her, and then the chalk.
They were both clumsy this time. Missing easy angles, scratching repeatedly. Nell’s fingers felt numb and shaky so that she could barely hold the pool cue steady. Losing fine motor control. Adrenaline would do that. She wasn’t sure if Eamonn was riding the adrenaline rollercoaster too, or if his mind was just in his pants rather than on the game, but he wasn’t playing with nearly the skill he’d shown before. I can win, she thought, but then he bit his lip as he lined up his cue, and she started thinking about his mouth all over again. She took her shot to sink the eight ball for the win, scratched, and the game was his.
Eamonn took the cue from Nell’s suddenly nerveless fingers and set it down on the pool table. “I think you’ll find we’ve both won,” he said, with an arm around her shoulders as he guided her back to their booth.
She made herself smile, reminding herself that losing graciously was part of being a good martial artist, whatever the circumstances. “You’re good at pool.”
“Thanks. Not sure either of us had our minds on the game in that last one, though.”
That made her laugh. “You think?”
She sat. Instead of resuming his place across from her, he slid into the booth on her side, close, his thigh brushing against hers. Denim against yoga pants. “So, what now?” he asked. “Dinner? Another drink? Get out of here?”
“Well, I’m not all that hungry…”
He gave her a considering look, and she found herself struggling to stay cool, trying not to think too hard about anything ahead between them. “You like doing shots? We could knock a couple back before we head out.”
Not a good idea. I don’t need to drink to relax, and doing shots only leads to trouble. But she heard herself saying, “Just one. And we go to my place, not yours.” His hand on her thigh felt so very warm.
“Sure. For that shot — how d’you feel about lychee as a flavor?”
“It’s been years since I’ve eaten any.” She thought of the round translucent fruits in their tough red husks, and the remembered pleasure of peeling them and biting into the pearly sweet flesh. “Funny, I haven’t even thought about lychees in ages. I like them, though.”
“So you’re up for trying lychee liqueur? It mixes beautifully with tequila.”
That sounds dangerous. But Nell nodded.
Their server was chatting with the bartender, so Eamonn got up and went over to them. He spoke briefly and held out a credit card, presumably settling their tab. Then he was striding back toward Nell, sliding in beside her, his hand returning at once to her upper thigh, easy and affectionate.
He makes life look easy; he really does. And in that moment, Nell could see how his nickname suited him.
The shots arrived, tinted palest pink and harmless looking. He clinked his glass against hers and drank, and she followed suit.
He wanted to call his car service, but she insisted on walking. “I always walk home from the Frog and Ball,” she said. “It’s only twenty minutes.”
“Would it matter if you got a ride this one time?”
“Would it kill you to walk with me? And I thought you were trying not to draw attention to yourself. Having some limousine roll up would be like waving a flag. Right now, no one’s paying attention — or is that the problem? You want to be recognized?”
Eamonn scrubbed his hands through his hair, fingering the ends. My hair is shorter these days, he’d said. “Fuck me, you’re so direct, Nell. And yeah, maybe I miss it a bit. But we’ll walk.”
Nell’s apartment was orderly and spotless, as always. “It’s not much, but at least I don’t have to share,” she told Eamonn as she unlocked the door. Small and plain, she thought, but it’s all I need. The sheets on her bed were clean, the apartment smelled of fresh laundry and citrus-bergamot candles, and her framed black
