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“‘Fixer’? Please tell me I don’t have a terrible heist movie nickname on the streets. I’d die of embarrassment. I just… like to help people.”
“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever need a helping hand.” The insinuation in his voice makes my toes curl. Why is this guy even talking to me?
What is he even doing here?
He doesn’t fit in at the party, per se. He’s probably a few years older than me. Maybe somebody’s older brother babysitting or playing chauffeur.
A couple of partiers stumble up, looking for drinks. “Hey, where’s all the booze, woman?” one of them slurs out.
“Keg’s that way.” My underwear model points toward the kitchen and leans down just enough to get in the kid’s face. His piercing expression shifts, just slightly, and I see the tension pop as the two bros take a step back before wandering off toward the kegs.
“Thanks.”
“I hope I didn’t overstep. I’m sure you know how to handle them, but I don’t know how you put up with trash like that all night.”
“Mostly, I just focus on how much money they throw at me.” I laugh. Not knowing what else to do, I set more cups out, waving for my gorgeous companion to fill them with ice from the cooler. He smiles and loads up a few, watching closely as I pour several different mixers and liquors. The attention is unnerving.
Which is why I apparently can’t help babbling on.
“It’s just the way they were raised, you know? These kids grew up with silver spoons in their mouths. Nannies. Maids. They’re used to talking down to people and having someone to do things for them.”
“That hardly seems like a good excuse to be an asshole to people.” A little crease forms between his eyebrows as he gazes down at me, like I’m the only person here.
“It actually helps sometimes that they think of me as help. Keeps most of them from getting handsy with me.” The shrug I offer is supposed to defuse the tension, but he looks at me even more intently.
Did it just get hotter in here?
He pushes a little lock of hair that drapes over his eye out of the way as he leans down to say something. It is the single most tummy fluttering thing I've seen. Especially compared to the sights around me. Not that I’ve looked at anything else since he showed up.
“There’s not a single guy here who’s worthy of touching you.” The way he says ‘touching’ feels like he just did, and I feel an ache forming between my legs.
Wow.
“You look like you could use a break. Shall we?” And before I can protest, he slips his hand into mine and pulls me along, snatching up two of the drinks I just made. The night air cools my flushed skin as we step out back, slipping along the side of the house to avoid the press of drunken bodies.
The lead singer of the band I lined up tells the crowd in the yard that they’ll be right back after a break, and the majority head back inside to find more drinks, more company, more music, leaving us basically alone standing in the dark, leaning against the vibrating building.
His shoulder brushes against mine, and I break my first rule as I take a sip of my cocktail, needing to take the edge off my nerves, my racing heartbeat. He smells incredible. Like summer rain. Crisp, but warm.
A loud voice sounds from the corner of the house, a wayward partygoer, and he turns, blocking me with his body, leaning over me. The noise moves on, hollering about our spot being “taken”.
“Sorry,” he mutters, one arm bracing against the wall holding his body inches from me. “I didn’t want any more company.”
I realize he’s apologizing for his proximity. Asking permission at the same time.
Our breath mingles, and I can’t think of anything I want more than to give him permission. To do anything he wants. My head is still nodding as I break Rule Number two, and the perfect curl of his bottom lip brushes against mine.
It’s exploratory, gentle. Too gentle.
My hands reach out, running up the curve of his muscular chest, fingers scraping up and around the back of his neck. Right into his waves of silky, honey hair. I savor the sensation for just a second before I tug ever so slightly, but insistently.
A soft little chuckle tickles across my lips as he resists. Just for a second. The second it takes for his body to press against mine. Then our lips collide, sweet pressure, parting, his tongue dancing to tease, drawing me in. Need erupts along my skin, shocking tingles down to my toes, to the tips of my fingertips dragging down his back. He fits against me like we were made for each other, his firm, taut muscles and my curves.
Spirals of sensation twine up my spine as he runs a hand up my back, the other down to tuck under the arc of my ass. His hands feel amazing and strong, cupping and pulling me toward him, letting me feel how hard he is against me.
I want him so badly. Him…
“I–I don’t even know your name,” I gasp, laughing at the absurdity of the realization. He joins in, and it’s musical, as charming as everything else about him.
