Live Without Regret (A Touch of Fate) (4 page)

Her head is tilted back, eyes closed, and when the beat of the song shifts, she tosses a hand up in the air. Slowly, she lowers her hand, threading her fingers into her straight blonde hair as her hips roll from side to side.

I’ve watched women dance before. Hell, I’ve even had a few lap dances, but nothing compares to watching
this
woman dance. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen and my cock swells against the confines of my zipper. Without bothering to hide it, I adjust myself and take a step toward Brittany. The guy next to me must be thinking the exact same thing because he too takes a step in her direction.

Ain’t fuckin’ happening.

I hold my arm out and it bumps him in the chest. “She’s taken, bro,” I say. His reply is nothing but muffled noise because I don’t stick around to listen. In three long strides, I’m standing behind Brittany.

Heat from her body is rolling off in waves. She smells like a mixture of sweat and tropical flowers with a hint of summer, and it’s hands down the most intoxicating fragrance I’ve ever encountered. Unable to keep my distance, I step toward her until the front of my body molds against her back. She doesn’t look to see who it is, but she doesn’t move away either. I’m not sure if that makes me happy or insanely jealous.

Does she know it’s me? Does she feel the same strange sensation in her chest when we’re within arm’s reach of each other? Or would she dance with just anyone pressed against her backside?

Our bodies move together for several beats, her hips rocking from side to side. Gripping her waist with my right hand, I pull her body flush with mine. Her ass pushes against my groin and she gasps.

Lowering my mouth to her ear, I whisper, “That’s what you do to me.” Her body shivers at the sound of my voice, and when her head drops to my chest, I push my hips forward.

Looking down, I see Brittany’s eyes flutter open and then her eyes lock on mine. Her chest rises and falls with each sharp intake of breath, and that’s when I know she’s just as affected as I am. The music keeps playing, but our bodies are no longer moving. Everything around us fades away. All of the other bodies—gone. It’s just this insanely sexy woman and me. I wait patiently for her to make her move and then, as though the DJ himself knew exactly what we needed, the music shifts and everything changes.

“Ride” by Chase Rice pumps through the speakers. Brittany spins in my arms until her ample chest is pressed snugly against mine. She regards me quietly for several seconds and then her eyes drop to my mouth.

Hell yeah.

I slowly run my tongue along my bottom lip, and I’ll be damned if she didn’t just whimper.

“You’re teasing me, Mr. Jackson.” Her words come out all breathy as she drags her gaze to mine.

“Trust me”—I slide my arm around her waist and she comes willingly when I pull her in close—“there are a lot of things going on right now, but teasing isn’t one of them.”

Brittany closes her eyes. She takes a shuddery breath and blows it out, drawing my attention to her pouty lips. Without thinking twice, I dip my head until my lips brush hers.

O
h my…

We’re kissing.

Connor Jackson’s lips are on mine. It’s not much of a kiss—
yet
—and it’s already the best kiss I’ve ever had. If that isn’t a scary fucking thought, then I don’t know what is.

My hands slide up his shirt and I splay my fingers across his broad chest. But instead of pushing him away—which I had every intention of doing—I curl my fingers into the soft flannel and hold on for dear life.

The kiss is soft, sweet, and unlike anything I expected from this tatted-up man. A rush of emotions pulse through my veins, and the need to be closer to Connor, to feel his body against mine, is all-consuming. Winding my hands around his neck, I tangle my fingers in his hair. A low groan rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest.

That sound…
holy shit that sound
. I want to hear it again.

My tongue swipes along the seam of his lips and he opens up. Tilting my head to the side, I give him full control and he doesn’t hesitate to take the reins. The fact that we’re making out on a dance floor in the middle of a crowded bar should bother me. It doesn’t. I don’t care who sees us. In fact, if his tongue keeps doing that swirly thing it’s doing, I’ll likely let him have his way with me right here and now.

Connor pulls back far too soon. I groan in frustration and the bastard has the nerve to chuckle. Fisting my hand in his hair, I try to yank his mouth back to mine but he resists. Instead, his hot mouth finds its way to my neck. Trailing his lips along my jaw, he finds my ear. “I changed my mind,” he whispers.

His words slam into me. There’s no need for Connor to explain or elaborate. I know what he’s referring to, and it’s exactly what I wanted.

Right?

So why does it feel so wrong? Why do I have this strong urge to get to know him, and why in the world do I have this strange feeling that one night with him won’t be enough?

I shouldn’t, but I want to know what makes him tick. I want to know what makes him smile, what makes him angry. I want to know what his favorite color is and what Christmas traditions he treasures most. I want to know every little thing that will cause him to make that sexy rumble I love so much.

Hope sparks deep in my chest, and it’s that hope that should have me running for the hills. It serves as a reminder of why I made my rule to begin with, which in turn leads me to grabbing Connor’s hand. He glances at our joined hands and then back at me.

“My place or yours?” I ask. Without waiting for an answer, I all but drag him toward the door. I need to get this over with in the slowest possible way. Meaning, I need to cherish every second with Connor because I can’t allow myself to have him after tonight. I’m in too deep…and I don’t even know his middle name. That alone spells disaster. But I’m weak and can’t walk away. This thirst I have for him has been growing since we met in his shop three weeks ago, and tonight I’m going to quench it.

As we approach the door, I glance over my shoulder, expecting to see hesitation on Connor’s face. There is none. Squaring his shoulders, he smiles confidently, and when I cock a brow, urging him to answer, he says just one word: “Mine.”

Hell yes, I’m yours…for tonight.

I don’t bother to tell him I only live a couple of miles away, because his place is probably a better choice. At least this way I can make a clean break when it’s over.

Connor leads me to his car, and in a matter of seconds we’re speeding away. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I check the compartment on the back of my case, ensuring my ID and credit card are still firmly in place. Then I shoot Casey a quick text.

Me: Left with Connor. We’re going back to his place. Leave your phone on; you’ll have to come get me later.

Her reply is almost immediate.

Casey: Good for you. It’s about time your vagina gets a workout.

Me: My vagina gets regular workouts, thank you very much.

Casey: BOB doesn’t count.

I shake my head, smiling. How does she know I have a battery-operated boyfriend? I choose not to reply to that comment though, because you get Casey started on something and she won’t stop.

Casey: Where does Connor, the tattoo artist, live?

Good question. I look up at the same time Connor makes a left-hand turn. Squinting, I focus on the street sign to see where exactly we are.

Davenport Way.

Hold up.

Davenport Way?

“You live out here?” I ask as we pass a familiar line of duplexes.

“I do,” he says, turning onto Baylor Hills Drive.

“Nice neighborhood.” Connor drives by yet another familiar street and I shoot off one more text to Casey.

Me: Not sure I’ll need you to pick me up. I’ll explain in the morning. Be good tonight. Love you.

“Thanks,” he says. I tuck my phone in my pocket and look up as he pulls into a driveway.

No fucking way.

Stepping out of the car, I shut the door and stare at Connor’s duplex. I don’t hear him walk toward me, but I know he’s there. I can feel him. The hair on my neck stands up any time he gets close, and my heart starts bouncing around inside my chest as though it’s trying to get his attention.

I take a deep breath. “Are you sure this is what you want?” I ask, giving him an out and secretly hoping he’ll take it. As much as I want to spend one night—
this
night—with Connor, I know that one of us is going to end up getting hurt, and it won’t be me. I won’t let it be me.

Connor’s warm hand wraps around mine. My knees go weak at the soft, unexpected touch. “I won’t lie. I want nothing more than for you to throw your rules out the window.” I try to remove my hand from his, but Connor only tightens his grip. “But,” he says, laughing at my weak attempt to get away, “I understand you have your rules for a reason. I wish I knew what that reason was so I could find a way to push past it, but I realize that isn’t what you want and I respect that.”

The wind picks up, blowing a strand of hair in front of my face. Connor drops my hand and brushes the hair from my eyes. “Ready?” His voice is strained, and a part of me wonders if it’s because he wants this just as badly as I do or if it’s because he knows he’s making a mistake.

I pause, giving myself the opportunity to walk away, but apparently my feet have a different agenda. Because when Connor grabs my hand and leads me toward his door, I follow.

With one hand still connected to mine, Connor unlocks his door and pushes it open. We step inside, and when he walks to the left to flick on the lights, I step further into the open space and toss my phone on the entryway table.

His home is gorgeous, and not at all like the bachelor pad I expected. The walls are a deep blue accented with dark wood trim, and the room is filled with oversized, chocolate-colored furniture. It fits Connor perfectly, but it’s almost
too
perfect.

I look closer to find that the mantel is adorned with framed pictures and knickknacks. A vase filled with fresh flowers sits on a hutch tucked in the corner. Intricately decorated throw pillows adorn the couch and a fluffy blue afghan is draped over the arm of the recliner. All of the details indicate a woman’s touch, but what woman? A sister, a mother, an old girlfriend…a best friend, maybe?

That last thought is like a bucket of ice water being dumped on my head, and I’m reminded why it doesn’t matter who decorated this place. This is the last time I’ll be here.

Squaring my shoulders, I turn to find Connor standing off to the side, his eyes igniting a fire as they roam over my body. I stalk toward him until his back is pressed against the wall. His gaze drops to my mouth, but I don’t give him a chance to think, let alone react. I seal my lips over his and our tongues collide, instantly dueling for power. Sliding, pushing, and sucking, neither of us is willing to give up control.

Connor tastes like pure fucking heaven.

Connor shouldn’t taste like pure fucking heaven.

Tearing my lips away from his, I slide them across his jaw. Dragging my mouth to his ear, I nip at it playfully before sucking the soft flesh into my mouth. “Bedroom. Now,” I whisper.

Strong arms wrap around my waist and lift me off the ground. As he takes off down the hall, I lock my ankles behind his back then claim his mouth in a heated kiss. He growls in response, and before I know it I’m wedged between the wall and a rock hard body with Connor’s erection cradled between my thighs. Tilting my hips, I grind against him.

He pulls his lips from mine. “You’re killing me,” he says, trailing his mouth down the side of my neck. The sound of his gravelly voice shoots straight to my clit, and I push against him harder, trying to ease the ache.

“Easy,” he murmurs. “We’ve got all night.”

The scruff on his face scrapes against the sensitive skin of my neck when he talks, and it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
More. I want more.

I open my mouth to tell him I can’t wait—that I want him right here, right now. But then he pulls the front of my shirt down, exposing my white lace bra, and all thoughts flee from my brain.