Page 24

I couldn’t. Didn’t want to.

Instead, I closed the distance between us.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative. But then Lane’s hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer, and I melted into him.

Normally, I cringed when men first touched my waist. I worried they were comparing me to other women, or feeling my fat. I didn’t get that with Lane. He kissed me like he’d been starving, and his fingers clutched at me.

Lane tasted like wine and promise. His lips were gentle, but insistent. One of his hands moved up to cradle my head, and his tongue flicked out to lick at my lips.

Arousal hit me so hard my knees threatened to buckle. I opened my mouth to him, and he kissed me thoroughly. I moaned, my hands clutching at his shirt, then his shoulders. I cupped his neck in my hands, even as my hips shifted against the car. His hips were nestled against mine, and he literally growled when I moved.

That was when I realized it was a very impressive erection pressing into me.

With a harsh sound, Lane took a deliberate step back, his hands on my shoulders. My heart was pounding so hard, I was sure he had to feel it. We were both breathing hard.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you,” Lane said hoarsely.

“Me too.”

“Jo—”

“Lane, I⁠—”

We both stopped, laughed.

“You first,” Lane said.

“I was going to say that I should really go before we do something inappropriate in your driveway.”

His eyes darkened. “And what would that be?”

I could tell by the look in his eyes that he hoped I would articulate the words. “Kiss you again. And again. And maybe straddle you in my back seat.”

Lane groaned, dropping his head to rest against my shoulder. “You’re killing me.”

“Good.” I smiled, kissing his ear. “Suffer a little.”

“Next weekend. Friday,” he said firmly, standing straight. “Dinner. A real date, just us. Let me take you somewhere nice and do this properly.”

“You already asked me to dinner.”

“Then say yes again.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, to dinner. Yes to dating. Yes to... whatever this is.”

Lane kissed me again, slower this time, deeper, like he was memorizing the taste of me. When we broke apart, we were both shaking.

“You need to leave,” he said roughly. “Before I forget I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

“I kind of like when you forget.”

“Jo.” My name was half warning, half plea.

I laughed and reluctantly stepped back. “Friday. Six o’clock.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Lane—”