Page 9 of Five Alarm Kiss

He’d bet a kidney her being uncomfortable had everything to do with how she was responding to his touch and not that she didn’t want to have anything to do with him.

“You sure about that?” He rubbed his thumb along her skin again.

She swallowed, pausing a moment before lifting her chin defiantly. “I’m perfectly com-forble,” she said, drawing out and slurring the last word.

“You are, huh?” He slid his right hand underneath the hem of her sweater, testing her statement. She was wearing a second layer, but he could still feel the warmth of her back through the thin material. It felt smooth and silky. A camisole, maybe?

She inhaled sharply when he rubbed his thumb along the small of her back. Her pupils dilated, making his dick respond.

“Postivly.”

Jake didn’t miss the dropped syllable. She may not be full-blown drunk, but she was definitely tipsy.

“Good to hear.” He pulled her a little closer, and this time, she leaned into him. “Cuz I can think of a bunch of things I’d rather make you feel than uncomfortable.”

Whether consciously or not, she squeezed his hand as her other hand tightened on his arm.

She hadn’t missed his meaning. He’d never taken advantage of a woman who was drunk—and never would—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t flirt. Plus, he was fairly certain flirting was ingrained in his DNA, so not like he could help it.

She wrinkled her nose and tilted her head back to meet his gaze. “Does that line typically work for you?”

He studied her face, both surprised and intrigued by her sudden switch from shy to confident. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

She blew out a breath, lips flapping together like she was imitating a horse snorting. “Not so much.”

“Really?” He was grinning like a fool, but her not fawning at his feet was refreshing.

“Yeppers.” Her lids were lazy, creating that relaxed, sleepy expression people who had drunk too much wore so well. It looked ridiculously adorable on her. “So cliché”

“Did you just call me ‘cliché’?” he asked, amused.

“Hey, if the shoe sits.”

“Fits,” he corrected.

She looked down and lifted a tennis shoe-clad foot. “Yes, it does.”

He stifled a laugh. “That’s good.”

She looked up at him with hazy eyes. “What is?”

“Your shoe.”

“I do what?”

“It fits.”

“I don’t wanna sit. We’re dancing.” She ran her left hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder and relaxed into him.

Her breasts pressed against his chest, a fact Jake didn’t miss. “You’re right. We are.”

The slow song had ended—an entire song ago. The band was now playing “Heartbreaker” by Pat Benatar, but Laurel hadn’t noticed. Not that Jake minded. He was perfectly happy keeping her nestled against him.

“Wow.” She squinted up at him, like she couldn’t quite focus on his face. “Pretty bad you forgot we were dancing.”

“It is,” he agreed, playing along. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so much. “Sorry.”

She shook her head in disappointment, then instantly froze, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Whoa.”