B&N<\/a><\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/p>\n
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The air between us shifts. I\u2019m filled with a strange giddiness, wanting to laugh for the fun of it, but I\u2019m also too warm, my limbs oddly heavy as if simple movements might be too much for me.<\/p>\n
His tone turns soft and cajoling, teasing the truth out of me. \u201cAre you going to tell me what you do?\u201d When I say nothing, the corners of his eyes crinkle. \u201cI see. You\u2019re going to torture me a bit.\u201d<\/p>\n
The warm, fuzzy feeling grows as I shrug. \u201cTorture feels apropos in this scenario.\u201d<\/p>\n
He hums again, taking another step toward me. \u201cWhat makes you think I won\u2019t like being tortured by you?\u201d<\/p>\n
The heat of his body and the scent of his skin makes my head light and my pulse pound. How did it get to this point where the highlight of my day is flirting with Jax Blackwood? Despite the thrill, I know I\u2019m in over my head. I haven\u2019t gone out on a date in months because I form attachments, I get emotional, and then I hurt when they inevitably leave. And this man will leave. He is as bright and fleeting as a camera flash. I\u2019ll be left with the image of him seared into my memory and nothing more.<\/p>\n
I tell myself all of this, the voice in my head as stern as possible. But it doesn\u2019t make me back away. It doesn\u2019t stop my body from somehow straining toward his without even moving. Because it might be stupid of me, but I want to feel something that isn\u2019t planned. Something, for however briefly, that\u2019s real.<\/p>\n
He\u2019s too attuned to me not to notice. John\u2019s lids lower as his attention slides down my body before easing back up to my face. Slowly, he rests his forearm on the wall beside my head. \u201cTell me, Stella,\u201d he murmurs.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I whisper back, flirting, even though I shouldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
His biceps bunch as he leans in, a smile dancing on his lips. \u201cTell.\u201d<\/p>\n
My breasts graze his chest, and I feel it in my toes.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re crowding me.\u201d I hate how breathy I sound.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan\u2019t help it.\u201d His voice is a rumble, the heat of his breath playing over my skin. He ducks his head, drawing close until our lips nearly brush, and when he speaks again, his tone is almost conversational, except for the husky quality that touches deep within my core. \u201cYou smell like strawberries. Fucking delicious.\u201d<\/p>\n
My lids flutter, and I swallow hard. \u201cOrdinarily, I\u2019d call you out on that clich\u00e9 but since I\u2019ve been eating strawberries, you aren\u2019t exactly wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n
His chuckle is slow and easy, as he eases back and his gaze slowly travels over my face. \u201cWere they sweet, Stella Button?\u201d<\/p>\n
He\u2019s looking at my mouth like he might try to find out. My lips tremble in response, and John tracks the movement, his breathing getting deeper, faster. \u201cYou have two freckles on your lips. One on the top lip and one on the bottom corner.\u201d<\/p>\n
Those damn freckles. They were the bane of my adolescence. I hid them with lipstick and silently cursed whenever someone mentioned them.<\/p>\n
Freckles don\u2019t have any feelings, but I swear it\u2019s as if he\u2019s touching them.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re just noticing this?\u201d I try to make it sound like a joke, but it comes out weak and thready.<\/p>\n
His own lips quirk. \u201cOh, I noticed. It\u2019s distracting as hell. They\u2019re like two little dots of butter toffee. Makes me want to lick them, get a taste.\u201d<\/p>\n
Oh, God. Lick them, please. I can almost feel it. I want to feel it.<\/p>\n
No. Bad Stella. Behave.<\/em><\/p>\nJohn\u2019s lips part a fraction like he just might take that taste.<\/p>\n
\u201cBack off,\u201d I whisper. And yet somehow my traitorous hands find their way to his sides, running over the waistband of his jeans, holding him there.<\/p>\n
John makes a sound deep in his throat and tilts his hips, pressing them against mine. A distinctly thick bulge nudges my belly. Both of us lose a breath, and then he\u2019s closer, his cheek touching my temple. \u201cYou\u2019ll have to let me go first.\u201d<\/p>\n
My thumbs slide under the edge of his shirt and find smooth, taut skin. A tremor goes through his body. I try to think, search for what the hell we\u2019ve been talking about.<\/p>\n
His lips brush the crest of my cheek as he murmurs against my skin. \u201cTell me what you do, Stella. You know you want to.\u201d<\/p>\n
My smile feels illicit. Somehow the action is directly tied to all my happy parts, making them draw hot and tight. \u201cI don\u2019t think I do.\u201d<\/p>\n
Another hum. \u201cLiar. You\u2019re dying to.\u201d<\/p>\n
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![\"\"](\"http:\/\/www.inkslingerpr.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/09\/KCauthor-209x300.jpg\")
Kristen Callihan is an author because there is nothing else she\u2019d rather be. She is a three-time RITA nominee and winner of two RT Reviewer\u2019s Choice awards. Her novels have garnered starred reviews from Publisher\u2019s Weekly and the Library Journal, as well as being awarded top picks by many reviewers. Her debut book FIRELIGHT received RT Magazine\u2019s Seal of Excellence, was named a best book of the year by Library Journal, best book of Spring 2012 by Publisher\u2019s Weekly, and was named the best romance book of 2012 by ALA RUSA. When she is not writing, she is reading.<\/p>\n
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The first time I met Jax Blackwood things went a little sideways.<\/p>\n