1. Walter #3
Walter forgot to reply, distracted by her closeness. A beat of silence passed. He’d lost the conversational thread. Don’t ask about her perfume, he silently ordered his mouth. It smelled like jasmine.
Hildy shivered under the weight of his gaze.
“Do you want my jacket?” he asked, sliding it off.
“Why, am I nipping out? I put those little things on.” She circled a finger in front of the peak of each breast. “You know what I’m talking about.”
He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.
“I figured one of your brides would have told you. Tricks of the trade. Especially with a backless dress.” When he said nothing, Hildy leaned closer, watching him with one brow raised. It felt like playing chicken, to see which of them flinched first.
“What are you doing, Hildy?”
“Waiting for you to run away.”
“That’s funny.” It wasn’t. “I could have sworn you were the one who runs.”
“Ha! I’m not scared of you.”
“Then why are you trembling?” He looked down at the smooth skin of her shoulders, with those whisper-thin straps.
“Rage, most likely.”
Walter draped his jacket around her shoulders, careful not to make contact with her skin. “There. In case it’s cold and rage.”
“I am known for my ability to multitask.”
He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling, offering a wordless, “Mmm.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing.”
He shrugged, keeping his mouth shut. Hildy watched him through narrowed eyes, as if she didn’t trust such easy obedience.
She edged closer. “Too bad you’re not wearing a tie.”
“Why?” Walter pressed a hand to the front of his shirt, suddenly insecure about the dress code.
Hildy wet her lips, maybe on purpose—or maybe she was nervous too.
“Because I’d grab it.” She made a fist and held it under his chin.
There was a reckless gleam in her eyes, as if she’d just changed the rules of engagement and was daring him to back down.
But Walter was many years (and several shots of tequila) past that kind of caution.
If she wanted to escalate their game of brinkmanship, he could kick down a few guardrails too.
“And choke me to death?”
She shook her head. “And pull—like a leash. Then you’d always be right where I want you. No running away.”
He lowered his chin, until he was close enough to whisper. “Who’s running?”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. “I promised Corinne I wouldn’t fight with you.”
“We’re not fighting.”
“Yet.”
“It’s your call.” He indicated the imaginary leash. If Walter were honest, he’d admit it had been there since the day they met: an invisible tether pulling him back into her orbit time and again. “Where do you want me, Hildy?”
When she lifted her hands, he figured the odds were fifty-fifty that she was about to shove him away.
He held his breath as her fingers came to rest on his shoulders.
Hildy’s palms skimmed his collar before traveling up his neck and over his ears until she’d worked her fingernails down to his scalp.
“Who taught you to do this?” she asked, kneading lightly.
“Do what?” How was he supposed to focus when she was touching him? It was like forcing yourself to climb out of a warm bed on a winter morning. He’d keep hitting that snooze button forever.
“This.” She smoothed his hair back from his forehead.
His jacket started to slip off her shoulders, so naturally Walter had to put his arms around her to hold it in place. “You did.”
“Really.” Her hands stilled, like her whole body was skeptical of that answer. “Not a girlfriend?”
He shook his head, taking the opportunity to bring his face closer to hers. She pressed a finger to his mouth. Walter waited for her to tell him to stop, get over himself, read the room. He was dreaming if he thought she was going to …
Slowly rub that finger along his lower lip, staring at him with heavy-lidded eyes. When he inhaled sharply, her finger slipped inside his mouth. Walter tasted her on his tongue as his lips closed.
It lasted only an instant before she pulled away, sliding that same finger into her own mouth and sucking it like a candy cane. It was almost a kiss—but not close enough.
Yanking her against him, Walter spun so his back was to the wall. And then his tongue was in her mouth, or vice versa, and his hand was sliding up the thigh she’d wrapped around his hip. She made an impatient noise, and he hoisted her higher, until they both gasped.
“You’re touching my ass,” Hildy observed.
He squeezed the smooth flesh, wondering hazily if she was planning a complete play-by-play. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing about this moment. “You’re not wearing underwear.”
She bit his earlobe. “Try again.”
Walter’s hand traveled slowly over her hipbone until he encountered a delicate scrap of lace. It felt like the slightest pressure would snap it in two.
“Ah,” he said, giving the fabric an experimental tug.
Hildy choked out an “ah” of her own that he swallowed with another kiss.
They’d kissed before, but not like this.
Walter wasn’t worried about accidentally banging teeth or what to do with his tongue.
He only wished he’d had less tequila so he could taste more Hildy as his mouth slid down to the base of her throat.
Pushing the strap of her dress aside, he pressed his lips against the delicate skin of her shoulder.
“I swear to God if you give me a hickey I will end you, Walter Burns.”
Hearing her growl his name was almost too much, a phantom wish from his subconscious escaping into the light.
And now all he wanted was to leave a mark on her perfect skin to say I was here.
She liked me enough to let me do this. Every time Hildy looked in the mirror, she’d remember this—remember him.