A near animalistic sound tore from Chad’s throat, and if it had been quieter in the club, people would’ve stopped to stare. Bridget’s silent invitation must’ve had a powerful impact on him, because the grip on her lower thigh tightened, and when he kissed the space under her chin, she was scalded.
He lifted his head, and the look in his eyes did more than sear her. It caught her on fire. His hand found hers, lightly wrapping around her fingers. “I want you. I’m not going to even fuck around. I need you. Now.”
And she needed him. Her entire body had turned to liquid heat, her very veins pumping molten lava to every part of her. Never before had she had such a quick response to a man.
She wet her lips with a quick swipe of her tongue, and the blue hue of his eyes churned. Her stomach was twisting into knots and dipping, plummeting.
Chad stood, his grip not leaving her hand but not tightening. He was giving her a chance to say no. He waited.
“Yes,” Bridget said.
Bridget didn’t remember most of the walk. All she knew was that he’d led her around the bar and down a narrow hallway she hadn’t noticed before. She was surprised that he didn’t take her up to one of the shady alcoves she’d seen in the front of the bar, which she was grateful for. God only knew the kind of action those places saw on a nightly basis. They ended up in a parking garage. She’d expected him to be driving something like a Porsche or Benz, but he had a new Jeep Liberty.
Displaying basic manners, he held the door open for her. Something she couldn’t remember a guy doing recently. Just as she went to slide into the seat, he growled low in his throat and turned her around, pulled her into his chest, and devoured her with his mouth and lips and oh sweet baby Jesus his clever tongue. As quickly as it began though, he was stepping away and guiding her into the car. If she’d been having second thoughts, that kiss would have totally changed her mind.
Once inside, she texted Shell and said she was leaving, keeping the fact she wasn’t alone to herself. Shell responded as expected. Her friend was already in the process of leaving with the guy she’d been talking to.
On the way to his house, they talked but the conversation was strained with anticipation. Her heart was flipping out, and he kept one hand on her knee, his thumb continuously smoothing a circle along the fleshy part.
A few times, logic crept into her thoughts. She really wasn’t the type of girl to get into one-night stands. At least she knew he wasn’t a serial killer, but this was Chad freaking Gamble…and she was Bridget Rodgers, a good twenty-plus pounds curvier than a supermodel and barely able to keep her head afloat in the finance department, and he was the city’s most talked about playboy with money falling out of his ears.
She was out of her league here.
And dear God, what kind of panties was she wearing tonight? The satin black ones or the granny panties? Since she hadn’t seriously considered going home with someone, if it were the granny panties, she would die.
But then his thumb made another circle and her hormones beat at her logic. Pushing aside all the ways they didn’t stack up together, she concentrated on the way her body was blossoming under his slight touch.
No more than twenty minutes later, Chad pulled into another parking garage. Bridget’s heart jumped.
Shutting off the engine, Chad glanced at her and gave a small, secretive smile. “Ready?”
Torn between being more ready than she’d ever been and wanting to run, she nodded.
“Stay,” he ordered, and then climbed out of the Jeep with an agility that made her envious. She watched him jog around the front of the car and then come to her side, opening the door. Extending an arm, he wiggled his fingers playfully.
Taking his hand, she let him pull her from the Jeep. Chad slipped an arm around her waist as he turned her toward the door. With his size and height, she actually felt small and petite for the first time in her life while tucked against his side.
They entered a wide and toasty hallway with hardwood floors. The doors with silver numbers were in dark cherry. It smelled like apples and spice in the hallway; the complete opposite of the mystery smell that clung to the cement floors and walls of what Bridget used to think was a decent apartment building she lived in.
When they stopped outside of 3307, Chad fished out his keys and opened the door. Stepping into the darkness, he flipped on a foyer light and quickly deactivated the alarm. Bridget hung back, her fingers tightening on her clutch.
The farther Chad moved in, the more lights came on. Opulence wasn’t even a word she would use to describe his apartment. For starters, the thing was bigger than most houses in the city. Well over three thousand square feet, and the loft-style apartment was prime real estate.
The foyer led into a spacious kitchen, which was an experience in polished granite and stainless steel, double ovens and numerous cabinets. Did he cook? Bridget stole a look at Chad as he dropped his keys on the kitchen island under a rack of pans and pictured him in an apron…and nothing else.
He caught her stare, and his lips spread into an easy grin. “Would you like a tour?”
“I think if I see any more I’ll get jealous,” she admitted.
He chuckled. “But I want you to see more.”
There was more to his words, an unsaid message that had the muscles in her belly tightening. She stepped forward and followed him out of the kitchen and into a formal dining room.
The long and narrow table surrounded by high-back chairs was minimalistic and gorgeous. Placed in the middle of the table was a black vase full of white flowers.