in check just fine. Of course, there had been six other people at that dinner, and she hadn’t been wearing next to nothing with sex on the brain.
“Hey!” Meg protested as John stole the beer right out of her hand, though nerves danced in her skin where his hand brushed hers. “Give that back!”
“You asked if I saw something I liked,” he replied innocently before taking a long sip of her drink. She couldn’t tear her stare away from the muscles working in his throat as he swallowed.
Handing the beer back to her, he kept his fingers on the bottle even after she’d taken it. Her pulse skittered even as she rolled her eyes. It was because she was already slightly aroused from dancing with Aaron. It was absolutely not because her admiration of John had grown into a full-fledged crush.
“Yes, because obviously I was referring to the beer.” Even though she wanted to prolong the contact, she tugged at the beer until he released it, though when she pressed her lips to it, she could have sworn that she could taste him on the glass.
He sees you as a sister now, Meg. Deal!
If only he didn’t make her mouth water when he fixed her with that stare.
“I wasn’t sure you were going to notice me. You were...occupied.” John waved an arm toward where she’d been dancing with Aaron. Though his tone was teasing, she thought she saw a flash of...well, of something in his eyes. Surely that wasn’t jealousy. No, definitely not.
He could have literally any woman in this bar—sexy, sweet, thick, thin. And he was not the kind of man to get jealous over her dancing with another man, no matter the chemistry between them. And she was absolutely not disappointed by that. Nope. Not her.
“Wasn’t feeling it,” she replied, which was only half a lie—she’d been feeling it, at least a little bit, until she’d seen John.
Maybe she should wade back into the crowd and find Aaron, take him up on his offer. The longer she stood there, looking at what she couldn’t have, the friskier she felt.
“Good.” Her gaze snapped to him, shocked. “You can do better.”
“Excuse me?” She blinked, not sure what to make of his words. “Why, because he wasn’t wearing a suit? Maybe what I want is a guy who works with his body. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Not what I meant, kitten.” He seemed more amused by her attitude than anything, which only irritated her further.
“What did you mean, then?” Chugging the rest of her drink, she signaled the bartender for another. “And what the hell kind of nickname is kitten?”
Taking the empty bottle from her, he set it out of the way and stepped into her personal space so quickly that she barely had time to blink. With only a thin ribbon of space between them, she could feel the heat emanating off his body, could smell his cologne, something that probably cost more than she made in a month, but that made her want to take a bite out of him.
What is happening?
Also, she’d never been this close to him, and she was pretty proud of herself for not wrapping a leg around his waist and climbing him like a monkey.
“Well?” she prompted, the silence too full of the unspoken need for comfort. “What did you mean?”
The bartender set her fresh beer on the surface beside them. John picked it up before she could and pressed the cool glass to her decidedly warm lips. Her thoughts spun, a kaleidoscope of confusion and need.
Why does he have to be so damn hot?
“I meant that you deserve someone who wants to be with you for you, not just because you’re a warm, willing body.” He tilted the bottle, and she swallowed the cool liquid that spilled into her mouth. When she licked her lips, his stare followed the movement, and she felt her pulse increase.
Huh. Maybe he hadn’t fully heeded Theo’s warning. Interesting. Now what to do with it?
“What if all I want is a warm, willing body?” she challenged, reaching up to claim her drink. A whisper of a smile ghosted around his lips. “Not all women want a man to put a ring on it, you know.”
“I wouldn’t presume that you would,” he agreed. When he lifted his hand and traced a single finger over the plane of her cheekbone, Meg’s head spun as though she’d had way more than two shots.
Clearly, she’d overestimated her ability to keep her attraction to him under control, but then, she’d never had to withstand such a full-frontal attack.
“You enjoy your fair share of warm, willing bodies. I think that’s fair to say.” She watched as his eyes darkened—had she touched a nerve?
“More than my fair share, probably,” he agreed, gaze intent on her face. He was playing a game here, and he hadn’t shared the rule book, which made her cranky. “But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. And you deserve more.”
What the hell? He’d had her thinking, for a moment, that maybe he was still into her, but all he’d wanted to tell her was that what was okay for him wasn’t okay for her?
Mamesie had raised her and her sisters to be strong, independent women who knew what they wanted and went after it. And she was pretty sure that each and every one of them, in this situation, would call bullshit.
“So, you’re saying there’s a double standard here, then.” She stepped back, increasing the space between them until she could breathe again. “You can enjoy as many casual encounters as you want, but I’m supposed to be a good little kitten and wait for someone to come along and cherish me. Well, guess what? Screw that.”
She got enough of this big-brotherly crap from Theo—she didn’t need it from someone she desired. Spinning on her heel, she started to stalk off—she’d find Theo and Jo and inform Theo yet again of just what she thought of him interfering in her love life before insisting that he drive her home as punishment for his crimes.
Before she could take more than two steps, John grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her back toward him. She bared her teeth, daring him to manhandle her, but he did just that, gathering both of her wrists in his large hands and holding them up in front of her.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching her struggle, but she seethed, spitting fire from her eyes.
“Would you let me finish?” he replied mildly, stroking the inside of her wrist with his thumb, distracting her.
How the hell was she supposed to maintain any kind of defense?
“I have nothing against casual encounters, as you so kindly pointed out. To be crude, sometimes just getting off is enough, yes?” He arched an eyebrow but continued before she could reply, “But when I say that you deserve someone who wants to be with you for you, I mean exactly that. It’s like food.”
“I’m not following.” No, she sure wasn’t, but she was suddenly very aware of his mouth, which suddenly seemed very, very close to her own.
“This might make your chef’s self shudder, but we can survive on fast food, right? On food that comes in a box, or a can, that’s quick and easy. It sustains us technically.” He dipped his head, and when his lips brushed the lobe of her ear, Meg felt her knees tremble. Had she thought she was in control here? Stupid, stupid her. She needed to get a grip, though, because he wasn’t trying to turn her on—that was all on her. “But don’t we all deserve a three-course dinner cooked by someone with your skill? Or are you, of all people, going to tell me that those yield the same experience?”
“I like fast food,” she managed, trying not to shudder when his lips moved to the shell of her upper ear. She knew he was only whispering in her ear because it was so loud, but she couldn’t stop the effect it had on her.
He frowned, small lines crinkling around the corners of his eyes.