Tessa

Barclay sets his empty glass on a side table and finally rises off the couch to join me on the floor. I’ve been dancing with his friend’s date, and Barclay seemed way too comfortable watching me, but I loved having his eyes on me. Between his hungry stares and the intense energy filling the air, I’ve never felt more alive and wild, but I’d rather have Barclay’s arms around me and his lips on mine. A girl can at least hope that’s the direction the night’s heading.

Barclay leans forward and brings his mouth to my ear. When his lips caress my heated skin with a feather-like touch, tingles ghost down my neck and a warmth pools deep in my belly. I can only take so much anticipation before I end up begging him to kiss me and humiliating myself in the process.

“Okay, princess. It’s time to go,” he says, pulling away from me, but I want him back close enough so I can smell his delicious scent. The look in his eyes tells me the night’s not over yet, which thrills me, but there’s one thing I want to do first. With a dreamy man. In my dream city.

“Dance with me,” I breathe, batting my eyelashes at him and adding a lip bite.

I may be lacking in hands-on experience, but I’ve read enough romance novels to have a clue about the art of seduction and sexual persuasion. His dark hooded eyes signal I’ve hit the mark, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Just one,” he says, taking my hands and pulling me to him, a teasing gleam in his eyes. I won this round.

Reaching up, I join my hands around the nape of his neck, basking in the feel of his skin after I’ve been dying to touch him all night. My forefingers twirl his hair at the base of his collar. It’s soft, yet thick, with a slight flip on the ends. Maggie would call it sex hair, and I would have to agree.

A new song begins, and I tighten my hands around him. “One more song, please? That one was just ending.”

“Okay, but after that, we leave.” I smile up at him in victory.

Barclay rests a hand on the small of my back, his other possessively holding my neck. He presses me closer to him, and our bodies mold together. I feel the hard lines of his erection against my stomach, and gasp, though he doesn’t press hard against me. It’s more of an introduction, an extremely firm hello. He responds with a twisted grin, then his dark gaze lands on my lips.

Kiss me, Barclay. Please just kiss me.

But he doesn’t. Instead, his hips start a sensuous swivel in time with the beat, and I follow his lead.

A week ago, back in Monroeville, Alabama, a dance like this with a handsome older man would’ve scared me senseless or gotten him run out of town by my brother. But here, at this club in New York City, our erotic movements match our surroundings—daring and living on the edge.

“The things I want to do to you, sweet girl,” he whispers against my ear. I close my eyes, and my head falls back. “I’ll start with a kiss. One you’ll still feel on your lips tomorrow morning.”

“Yes.” I slur the word in a haze of desperation and lick my lips at the thought of finally kissing this beautiful man. I rise up on my tiptoes so he can reach me better.

“Not here, for all the world to see. I want to take my time in private.” I sigh out of sheer frustration. How much can a girl take?

“Screw the song.” I release my hands from around his neck and wrap my fingers around one of his hands. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Barclay chuckles as I drag him through the crowd of partiers. I’m a woman on a mission and make a beeline straight toward the service elevator.

Barclay and I are alone in the elevator as we descend to the main floor. He moves closer, essentially backing me into a corner, and looms over me. I hold my breath as I look into his heavy-lidded eyes. They give me a thrill of excitement mixed with a touch of fear, but more of myself, because I could totally let loose with him.

Then what?

There are no guarantees. Barclay could be nothing more than a memory I carry with me for the rest of my life. My first. But it’s time I quit overanalyzing. It’s keeping me from living my life, and I want to live in the moment for once. Feel it. Breathe it. Be with him and forget about tomorrow. Somewhere in Alabama, I imagine Maggie giving me a fist pump.

“I can’t stop thinking about one thing.” He breaks the silence and rests both hands above me on each side of the corner walls. I blink and wait, wanting him to tell me more. “How has no man touched you yet? You’re the most beautiful creature sent by some wicked twist of fate to torture me. I should let you go—let you find someone your own age.”

Ouch, that stings. And how do I even respond to something like this? It seems obvious to me that there’s been an undeniable pull, like a force of nature, joining us together from the moment we looked into each other’s eyes.

Maybe with his years of experience with women, what I feel is nothing new to him. But to me, it means everything. I’ll play his “I’m too old for you” game and see if I can erase his hesitations of us being together once and for all. It’s not like I’m asking for more than tonight anyway.

A true fact about southern women: we know how to fight for what we want. It comes from living with frizz-inducing humidity and being raised on Lynyrd Skynyrd. Both build fierce determination.

“All right, Barclay. I’ll only date guys in their twenties. Any suggestions? I’m sure you have a few who would fit the bill.” I square my shoulders, and anger flashes in Barclay’s eyes. His jaw tightens and his lips form a straight line.

“We’ll finish this conversation in the cab,” he growls.

My dating declaration is like hitting a row of sevens on a slot machine. He’s now imagining me with other men, and I want to yell jackpot! When the elevator arrives at the ground floor, Barclay leads me outside to the edge of the sidewalk. He hails a cab and ushers me inside. I laugh to myself as he sits down next to me in a huff. This car ride should be loads of fun. For real.