Chapter 22

He stood, watching the obvious pleasure and simple request soften her eyes. Even now, a little on the sloppy side his Katy held her head with a proud tilt as she asked to be touched. For him to lay his hands on her. Even buzzing his brain held onto the words. To lay his hands on her, when all he wanted was for her to lay her hands on him. Without voicing his wants, he caught her hand in his twirled her around the room.

She giggled and couldn't seem to care that such a girlie sound escaped her lips. For the first time in months she felt free. The laughter came naturally as liquid courage flowed through her veins.

As they danced, her words kept zipping through his head…Lay your hands on me…Lay your hands on me. He twirled her again, his smile growing. The little spitfire doctor had him half writing a song on a drunken night. The glimmer of the idea continued to percolate as he twirled her around the room.

Breathless, she gripped his shoulder as the song changed and his voice went low in her ear, the words verbatim.



"While we're apart, don't give your heart to anyone," he said on a low croon. Unbidden, she felt her blood go thick with want. And as the twirls slowed, the room didn't. The slow beat paired with a low, rich voice that begged for the girl to, "Save the Last Dance For Me," and she let her eyes lock with his.

“We’re going to keep the night flowing with a little Sam Cooke, how about, Another Saturday Night? Oh yeah, I like it,” the announcer said nice and low.



The room filled with the Sam’s deep and raspy voice and brass. Jon's dance step changed into a sloppy cha-cha. His voice sang along as he twirled her and dipped her, forgetting some words and shouting others. She tried to keep her eyes locked with his, but somehow she kept drifting to the soft, full lips and his crooked smile.

He pulled her closer, the stretchy fabric of her halter top rubbing against the hair of his chest before he twirled her out and into a natural, if off beat cha-cha. She had rhythm that he wasn’t prepared for. Dragging her in one more time, their hips bumped. He watched her green eyes widen, then ease as he turned in a circle bumping her hips to the beat but leaving the intimacy stretching between them. Whether she liked it or not, there was something between them.

He twirled her in closer as they shared the same air, his lips brushed against her lips as he sang, “How I wished I had someone to talk to…I'm in an awful way.” His hands riding low on her hips and for the briefest moment he allowed himself to grind against her and the air crackled between them.

The song ended and Kate stepped back. "Well, that was some reward," she said and sat down. She grabbed her beer and slugged it back. A huge part of her wanted to give in and try it, see what he tasted like, but the careful part just wasn't drunk enough. She stomped down on the needs gurgling to life for the first time since...well, ages, she thought. She gestured to the glass. "You're turn."

Sitting down, he lifted his own beer and drained it. Plopping down beside her, he carelessly set up his shot, taking a fortifying one first, then pouring another as it burned down his throat. She was dangerous. The way she tugged at him was dangerous. "Sheds, I mean fuck! HEADS!” he called and bounced it too hard, watching it plunk into the carpet, missing the shotglass by a foot.

She snickered, "That wasn't even close. I thought you could handle your liquor better than that, Sugar."

He straightened up, man...was that two of her? He glanced at the bottle of almost full tequila and winced. Less than two inches left, that wasn’t good. "Meant to do that,” he boasted. “I was thirsty." He lifted the shot glass and tossed back the drink, gasping slightly as fire burned its way to his belly. "Your turn, Gorgeous."

She bent to pick up the quarter and caught sight of his jeans riding super low on his hips. The shredded t-shirt shorter after so many washings showed a perfect ridge along his waist and belly. Not sure if the saliva pooling her mouth was from being upside down or the jeans, she quickly sat up. She missed her shot and knocked back her shot. "Guess it's your turn."

He took the quarter, then filled the shot glass, determined to make his shot this time. He lined it up carefully, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth. "Tails," he said and with a flick of his wrist the coin tinked into the bottom of the glass tails up. "So, what’ll it be?"

The thick patch of hair called to her and she spoke through a haze of Tequila. She wanted those hands on her again. "Dare," she said on a husky whisper.

He leaned in close, "I want you to lay your hands on me." His gaze steady on hers, “If you dare.”

Her eyes dropped to the patch of hair that tufted above the flap of ripped cotton. She wanted it, God how she wanted it. It had been so very long since she’d felt the warmth of a man. She reached out, smoothing her palms over the crisp, thick hair. The dream of surgery left her hands even more sensitive to touch. Closing her eyes to soak it in, she felt it curl around her fingers and the warmth drew her closer as she coasted up the surprisingly firm pecs to the wiry, smooth muscles of his shoulders.

He bit back a groan at her hesitant touch. Damn she was enticing. The way she felt along his skin felt like she was memorizing each muscle and delighting in the process had him rock hard. With each inch that she gained, he moved in on her resting his hands on her hips until he couldn’t take it and nudged her forward.

With balance a thing of the past, she tipped against him and their mouths hovered less than inch apart. Her fingers grazed over the corded veins of his neck until she found the…well, all she could think of were clouds. His hair looked over-processed but actually felt very soft and when she found the base of his skull she forced herself to still.

The groan he’d been holding back, escaped as his lips finally brushed against hers. Their eyes met and the way she watched him was disconcerting. Like she was desperately trying to figure him out. He leaned in again, watching as she melted into him. It was a gentle kiss, no words belonged here. They only messed things up when they tried to talk.

His flavor was darker than she'd expected. Heady and tempting, with a touch of...hell, she didn’t know. Words didn't mean anything when someone could kiss like Jon. Even with more than half a bottle of tequila and a six pack between him, there was little fumbling, just a sort of…knowing. She wasn’t sure how to handle it or what to do when someone she didn’t even know, seemed to know body so well.

He pulled her closer, his lips taking what she offered as his tongue traced over her lips with a gentleness that belied the liquor and beer. Her taste was like summer and freedom, a breath of freshness that had been missing in his life.

She shuddered at the touch of his tongue. Her body wanted him, she could feel herself opening to him, for him. Her stupid brain was reeling. She didn’t understand this, didn’t know how to…he pulled back as if sensing her unease. Pushing aside the rational side of herself, she wrapped both arms around his neck and fastened her mouth to his. Gone was the gentler touch and gone was the sweet seduction.

She couldn't get close enough to him as she pushed at the tattered t-shirt until he was wide open for her. The musky scent of male sweat and arousal swirled around her as she coasted over his chest, tangling her fingers into the long hair that teased his shoulders and scraping her teeth along his jaw.

His hands tightened around her as the kiss deepened his hands slid up under that teasingly brief halter top to caress the sinfully soft skin of her belly. Even as he took that moment to nibble her ear, the alcohol that swam in his blood slowed him. Trying to hold onto the wildness he felt in her, he returned again to trace her neck and finally find that wide, full mouth. His liquor soaked brain was lost in her, wanting her closer.

Kate felt the room spin as they both landed on the couch. She found herself sprawled on him, the last shot she’d hammered down flowing bright and hot in her belly. He looked up at her with dazed eyes, the lust dulling a little with the strongest of top shelf Tequila. She rose above him, and where she would normally give her best, long slow ride, all she saw was a spinning room. She dropped down on him, burying her face in his chest, pushing at the shirt even as the black dots started to dance before her eyes.

His hand slid upwards to wrap around her waist, his eyes un-focused as the beautiful woman above him swam in and out of view. He closed his eyes, just for a moment to gather his senses, and in that moment, fell into a deep drunken sleep.

She slid her palm into his shirt as far as she could go, then changed course, skipping the shirt altogether and found the warm fur of his belly and the well worn denim that rose so teasingly low on his hips. She pressed kisses to his chest, nosing against a nipple, she flicked out her tongue and realized he didn't make a single response. She lifted up and caught sight of his sleeping form and huffed out a sigh. "Just friggin' figures," she growled and flopped down on top of him just as the room did one slow, shimmery roll. "You will not get sick," she told herself, closing her eyes as she let her cheek rest on the best pillow she had...Jon.