“I’d better get to bed.” She nibbled on her bottom lip.

He couldn’t look away from those small, straight teeth sinking into that rosy flesh. “Not yet,” he heard himself say. “I’m too wired. I want somebody to talk to.” Somebody to touch.

Being Annabelle, she read his mind, and she confronted the situation head-on. “How sober are you?”

“Almost.”

“Good. Because I’m not.”

His eyes settled on that moist blossom of a mouth. Her lips parted like flower petals. He tried to come up with a smarmy comment that was sure to offend her, which would snap them both out of this, but he couldn’t think of a thing. “And if I weren’t almost sober?” he said.

“You are. Almost.” Those melted caramel eyes didn’t leave his face. “You’re a very self-disciplined person. I respect that about you.”

“Because one of us needs to be self-disciplined, right?”

Her hands twisted at her waist. She looked adorable—rumpled clothes, sandy ankles, that hullabaloo of shiny hair. “Exactly.”

“Or maybe not.” To hell with it. They were both adults. They knew what they were doing, and he took a step toward her.

She threw up her hands. “I’m drunk. Really, really drunk.”

“Got it.” He moved closer.

“I’m totally wasted.” She took a quick, awkward step backward. “Hammered out of my mind.”

“Okay.” He stopped where he was and waited.

The toe of her sandal eased forward. “I am not responsible!”

“I’m readin’ you loud and clear.”

“Any man would look good to me right now.” Another step toward him. “If Dan walked in, Darnell, Ron—any man!—I’d think about jumping him.” The bridge of her nose crinkled with indignation. “Even Kevin! My best friend’s husband, can you imagine? That’s exactly how drunk I am. I mean…” A gulp of air. “You! Can you believe it? I’m so wasted, I couldn’t tell one man from another.”

“You’ll take whatever you can get, right?” Oh, this was too easy. He closed the remaining distance between them.

The muscles in her throat worked as she swallowed. “I have to be honest.”

“You’d even take me.”

Her narrow shoulders rose, then fell. “Unfortunately, you’re the only man in the room. If somebody else was here, I’d—”

“I know. Jump him.” He ran the tip of his finger over the curve of her cheek. She leaned into his hand. He rubbed his thumb over her chin. “Could you be quiet now so I can kiss you?”

She blinked, thick lashes sweeping her pixie’s eyes. “Really?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Because, if you do, I’ll kiss you back, so you need to remember that I’m—”

“Drunk. I’ll remember.” He slipped his hands into the hair he’d been aching to touch for weeks. “You’re not responsible for your actions.”

She gazed up at him. “Just so you understand.”

“I understand,” he said softly. And then he kissed her.

She arched against him, her body pliant, her lips hot and Annabelle-spicy. Her hair curled around his fingers, ribbons of silk. He freed one hand and found her breast. Through her clothes, the nipple pebbled under his palm. She wound her arms around his neck, pressed her hips to his. Their tongues played an erotic game. He was hard, mindless. He needed more, and he reached under her top to feel her skin.