Pillow Talk. Kathleen O'Reilly
the waiter arrived with the entrées, and they ate their dinners in silence. Every now and then their gazes would collide and Jessica felt the warm flush prickle her skin.
At last the table was cleared and the bill paid. “You like to dance?” he asked. “There’s a club down the street.”
She knew what dancing would involve, a loud band, smoke and probably very little touching. “No thanks.”
“Then I’ll just take you home,” he said, his voice low, full of promise. Promises that involved touching.
She struggled to breathe, images of touching playing in her head. “Home,” she echoed.
Adam drove this time, the hum of the car’s engine a contented purr that suited her mood nicely. When they reached the garage, she started to wish she’d cleaned up her apartment a little more, that she had shopped for better lingerie. Something sexy. Did she have anything sexy? There was an old teddy, but it had got washed in hot water and had never recovered.
Was she going to have sex?
Sex. Oh my God. Panic started in her throat and worked its way down between her thighs.
“Jess.” A hand touched her shoulder, a whisper-touch and she jumped.
“You okay?”
She noticed the emptiness of the parking garage, the intent look on his face. The seat belts came off. Her smile was simply because it felt right, because he felt right.
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