Right Kind of Wrong

9 | JUST MY TYPE

Rhys didn't have a clue why he chased after the woman. Maybe it was the look on his friends' faces. Like somehow, if he didn't, he'd be admitting they were right about his choice in women. Or the strange feeling he'd gotten when she locked eyes. Whatever the reason, he rushed through the door into the parking lot like a high school boy after his first crush. And before he could stop himself, he called out to her. When she didn't acknowledge him, he hollered louder.

Intending to tell her it was nothing personal. Explain his no-pickup rule, and thank her for the drink, he hoped to let her down easy. But she turned to face him, brown eyes wide, hands and head kinetic, dark curls flying in every direction, sensuous lips forming words faster than he could listen. Then he felt it. A little skip in his pulse. It only lasted a second, but long enough to get his attention.

Whatever it was, it vanished, and he focused on her again. She was trying to brush him off in some type of reverse psychology. Who was this woman? In a few minutes, he found out more about her than most women on a first date. She had mother issues. Broken up with her girlfriend. From out of town and looking for a good time.

And when he held her hand, there it was again. That missed beat. Longer this time as if the physical contact intensified the symptom. Her hand, small and warm, trembled. He believed her story. This was a woman who didn't pick up one night stands in bars, or, he wagered, any other place.

He pulled her closer, and she stiffened, so he relaxed his grip. Hell, rules were made to be broken, so he asked her to buy him another drink. Not the best come-on line, and he wasn't sure she'd go for it.

She hesitated and drew a shallow breath. "See, I was right. I've shamed you into saying that. I should go back to my..."

Rhys yanked her closer and crushed his mouth down on hers. At first, she went rigid, then clutched his shirt to pull him tighter against her. He hung on to the kiss, and the heart blip became a full-blown arrhythmia. By the time their lips parted, she'd gone limp. He kept his hands around her waist for fear she might collapse onto the pavement.

She struggled for breath, and he pulled her tighter. He'd hold her all night if she wanted him to. "Did that feel like guilt or obligation?"

Head lolled back and eyes half-closed, she uttered, "Uh-uh."

"I didn't think so. Can you stand without me holding you?"

"Oh. Umm, yeah, maybe. I wasn't expecting that."

He released her and grinned wider. "Me neither. Now, let's get back inside. I want to see this band. I'm Rhys Wakefield."

"A-," she caught herself. "Elia Green."

The concert was an interlude for what Rhys had planned, and after that mind-blowing kiss, he knew she was on board. No need to hurry. A room waited right across the street, and they had all night. If it was breakup revenge she wanted, he was happy to oblige. Either the woman who left her hadn't been taking care of business, or it'd been a while because the way she kissed screamed more.