Like a shot of adrenaline to his groin. He shifted in the chair, sure she could see his erection, and equally sure he didn’t mind her knowing he was rock-hard for her. “As long as you’re looking at me like that, you can call me anything you want,” he said, watching her reaction as she pressed her lips together as if she were holding back. He didn’t want her to hold back. He wanted her to let go.

“Well, Oh, God, Jack, we’re in the same field. I also help people feel better.”

She took another drink, and that seemed to be the end to the obligatory “what do you do” conversation. He was glad it was out of the way, that it had been handled without lies, and that they could move on to more interesting topics. He segued into something he’d wanted to ask all night. “Any chance you’d let me make you feel better, Michelle?”

“What makes you think I feel bad?” she countered.

“Nothing. But I think I could make you feel a little bit better if, say, I did this,” he said, then brushed a loose strand of her hair away from her shoulder, and leaned in. It took five seconds for him to bend closer, and the air was charged, heated with possibility. Then he pressed his lips to her neck, barely there, brushing her soft, sweet skin that tasted faintly of honey and vanilla, something entirely alluring that made him both want to kiss her and rip her clothes off at the same time. A feminine scent, but a thoroughly suggestive one, too, that hinted at the way she might taste all over. “Mmm,” he murmured against her skin, then pulled back to assess her response. The hazy look in her eyes told him all he needed. More. She wanted more.

She breathed out hard through pursed lips. “You know, I think, um, this spot,” she said, tapping her neck on the other side, “might need to feel better too.”

“I have a treatment plan for that,” he said, leaning in close to kiss her neck. He groaned faintly, heat rising in his body because she tasted so good. The scent of her was beyond arousing, and he wanted to know how she tasted everywhere. Her hair, the back of her neck, her belly, her legs, between them . . . he wanted his mouth all over her.

“What about here?” he asked, brushing a fingertip across her bottom lip, watching her hitch in a breath. That quick gasp signaled that she was losing control, and that was how he wanted her to be. Lost in him.

She nodded. “Yes, my lips could stand to feel better,” she said in a needy whisper.

“Then let me help you feel fantastic,” he said, and he took his time, wanting to savor every single second of not only kissing her, but the time before, when he was about to kiss her. He ran his fingers over a few loose strands of her hair, so soft against his skin. He watched her, because he liked to watch, and because he liked to record a woman’s reactions, and this woman had him wanting her badly. Her brown eyes were clouded with lust, and he was sure they matched the look in his. The only difference was he would lead the kiss. He would set the pace. He liked control, and he wanted to know how she felt melting against him. He traced a finger down her jaw, and her lips parted. Her breath was soft against his face, and then he pressed his lips to hers. She tasted faintly of lipstick and vodka, and it was one of his favorite taste combinations in the world. Running his tongue across the seam of her lips, he teased at first, priming her for how he wanted to kiss her properly. Hard, passionately, the kind of kiss that would make her weak in the knees, and foggy in the head, and leave her not only wanting, but desperately needing more.