Читать книгу Starstruck - Julie Kenner - Страница 11

FOR ABOUT two seconds, Chris was certain that he’d not only died, but had landed squarely in heaven. The second after that, his brain processed the fact that Alyssa—his Alyssa—had pressed her mouth hard against his, her arms tight behind his head as if she wanted to deepen the kiss.

Chris was a lot of things, but he wasn’t an idiot, and he opened his mouth, giving her access, then swallowing a low guttural groan as her tongue swept inside, hot and demanding.

She tasted of chocolate and mint, and though he had absolutely no idea what had gotten into her, he saw the kiss as a challenge—a chance to prove he was worthy of this woman who every day filled his thoughts and fantasies.

Chris had always loved a challenge, and he met her lips with gusto. His tongue warred with hers, his mouth claiming her, sucking and nipping on her lower lip even as his hands splayed across her back, holding her closer to him, the contact setting every inch of his body on fire.

She wore a thin pajama top, and her body rubbed against him, her nipples like hard pebbles against his chest. He wanted to touch, to explore, to memorize every inch of her body, but he didn’t, terrified that at the slightest wrong touch she’d pull away and this magical bubble would burst.

Part of him wanted to risk it, though. To take his cue from Max Dalton, who wouldn’t leave his hands on her waist. He’d slide them up, skimming under the skimpy top, his fingers on her back, his thumbs easing forward to stroke the curve of her breast.

He wouldn’t stop there, either. He’d present a full assault, sliding his thumbs forward until the pads teased her nipples, then deepening his exploration of her mouth as his hand slid down to the waistband of her flimsy pants. He’d feel every twitch of her skin, every sweet hesitation, but she wouldn’t tell him to stop, and that simple surrender would arouse him as much as the feel of her body against his.

He’d slip his hand down, his erection painful with need, then moan when his finger found damp curls and her slit, already wet and ready. Only a little bit more, and he would brush her clit and she would tremble in his arms, her back arching, and her lips parting beneath his mouth as she whispered one sweet, simple word: Yes.

No.

The real world rushed back to smack Chris in the ass. “What?” he said, groggy and confused.

“No,” Alyssa repeated. “I’m sorry.” She backed away from him, managing to look both completely turned on and utterly mortified.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “I should never have—I’m just…I’m just sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, though it wasn’t at all. His body was on fire, his desperation acute. He wanted her back in his arms. He wanted to finish what they’d started, and then he wanted to go from there.

But in truth they’d barely started anything. The woman who’d melted under his touch had been only in his fantasy, and the woman he desired so desperately was now standing in front of him regretting a single kiss that had passed between them.

And that, thought Chris, was a damn shame.

“I’M SORRY,” she said again, but Alyssa was certain she needed to keep repeating that in order to make it real. Because at the moment, she didn’t feel sorry at all. She felt incredibly turned on, and that really wasn’t good.

She turned away, scrubbing her face in her hands. “I mean, that was really beyond the pale, wasn’t it?” She’d kissed him.

And good Lord, but that had been one hell of a kiss. Soft, yet firm. Demanding, yet sweet. The kind of kiss that not only soaked a girl’s panties, but had her thinking about pink roses and hand-holding.

Dear God, what had she been thinking? Not only did she not want to go there with Chris, but he had never once given her any hint that he was remotely interested in her.

Or, rather, he’d never given her any hint before five minutes ago. Because from the way he’d kissed her back…from the way his hands had stroked her…the way he’d felt, all hot and hard as he’d pressed up against her…either he was a very good actor, or there was some definite interest going on there.

And though she told herself there was absolutely no way she would repeat that kiss or go any further whatsoever, her own body was calling her out as a liar. Her damp panties. The way her skin seemed to tingle like someone standing next to fifty thousand volts of raw electricity. And her nipples, now hard as rocks under her thin pajama top. Not good. Definitely not good.

Since she really couldn’t have a conversation with him about how that kiss was a mistake if her body was screaming otherwise, she ducked into the bathroom for a robe to toss on over her pajamas, then came out hoping she looked cool and collected. “I…um…I’ve been drinking schnapps.”

“Ah,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“It’s just that Claire was here earlier, and we were drinking and talking about sex and—” She stopped. Her rambling was definitely not improving things.

“Anyway, I, um, totally stepped out of line and I’m really sorry and really embarrassed and—”

“Alyssa,” he said, an obvious smile in his voice. “It’s okay. I get it.”

She pretty much sagged in relief. “Really? It’s just—the schnapps, and—”

“Seriously. I get it.”

“Right. Of course.” Of course he got it. He was probably as mortified as she was. He was a guy, though, so was it any wonder his body had sprung to attention? He was probably happy to push the whole thing behind them fast, fast, fast.

He waved toward the hall closet. “So what exactly were you doing?” He turned before she could answer and moved into her kitchen. She heard the water running, and by the time she arrived behind him, she saw that he’d splashed water on his face and was patting himself dry with a towel.

“I’ve got cocoa in the slow cooker,” she said, wishing a million times over that she could erase this sudden awkwardness between him.

“Sounds good.” He knew her kitchen as well as she did, and grabbed a holiday mug for himself, then fixed cocoa with just a splash of schnapps. “How about you? A refill?”

“I don’t know,” she said wryly. “Schnapps seems to be dangerous to me.”

As she’d hoped, he laughed. But what she hadn’t expected was the heat in his eyes when he said, “I’ve never run from danger.”

“Chris…”

He held his hands up. “Just lightening the moment.”

“Sorry. I’m still edgy.” She ran her fingers through her hair. This was Chris. As good a friend as Claire. She should not be feeling all awkward and weird around him. “Too much holiday cheer. Not to mention holiday sugar.” She squinted at him. “And it’s late. Why did you come over here, anyway? It’s Saturday, shouldn’t you have a hot date like the rest of the human race except me?”

“Working,” he said.

She perked up. “Are you doing another article? You were complaining last month that you were going to run out of rent money early next year and—”

“I’m cool,” he said. “And yeah, I have another job in the pipe. But I’ve been working on the next Max Dalton book.”

“Oh.”

He laughed. “Tell me how you really feel, Alyssa.”

She could feel her cheeks heat. “I love your book, you know I do,” she said, meaning every word. “But wouldn’t it make more sense to cram in a few more articles? Really pad your bank account?”

“Your concern for my well-being is overwhelming,” he said with a lazy grin. “But if I worked all the time, when would I play?”

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t play. You either work for money or you work for free. I just think you should—”

“Work for money. I know.” He shrugged. “Hopefully I am. My agent seems really encouraged.”

“Yeah? That’s awesome.”

“But?” he asked, his tone so teasing she almost rolled her eyes.

“Fine. Fine.” She held up her hands in self-defense. “Pretty soon you’ll tell me I sound like your mother, so I’m dropping it. But I have two words before I do.”

“Good times?” he teased.

“Retirement plan,” she said.

He nodded. “Don’t worry. Got it covered.”

And since she was quite certain that he didn’t, she decided that was her cue to drop the subject. In truth, his work ethic impressed her. She knew he was perpetually broke, of course, but at least he knew what he wanted, and he threw himself after it wholeheartedly. She just wished he was a little smarter about the whole thing. Or at least smarter than her dad had been. Because her parents were heading into retirement with little more than dust in their IRAs, and while Alyssa would do what she could to help them out, she’d hardly reached the point where she was made of money, and she was desperately afraid that her childhood would be repeated in their old age, and they’d lose the house that they’d bought during her senior year of high school.