Seeking Her by Cora Carmack Page A

frowned. “You still haven’t answered it.”
    “Yes, well.” I reached out one finger, trailing through the drops of water collecting along her collarbone. “You make it hard to think straight.”
    Her eyes lit up, and she pulled me after her. “Come on, soldier. You can finish staring at me at the bar. I promise I’m not going to disappear.”
    I took a deep breath and forced myself to look away from the curve of her ass.
    “Stupid. So incredibly stupid,” I mumbled to myself.
    She led me to one of three bars that had been set up inside the domed thermal-bath building. The rest of her group had gone ahead of us and had already claimed a section of barstools. I gladly took a seat on one as soon as we were close enough.
    Kelsey leaned over the bar, and I was exceptionally glad that I was sitting down.
    “Gin bitter lemon,” she told the bartender. Then she looked back at me. “What do you want?”
    “Nothing. I’m good.”
    I took a deep breath. I had to stay good.
    She rolled her eyes and said, “Make that two gin bitter lemons.”
    I swallowed. This was a bad idea. I should get up and leave now, make some excuse. But that swimsuit . . . Heaven help me, but I am a weak man.
    I dipped two fingers under the strap at her hips and pulled her back toward me. She fit perfectly between my knees. Resting her elbows on my thighs, she leaned back into my chest, and I barely resisted planting my lips on her neck.
    I could flirt with her without taking it too far. I wasn’t in high school anymore. I had some control.
    Needing to ease some tension, I said, “Whatever happens tonight—”
    “Yes?”
    “Don’t throw up in the pool.”
    She pulled away from me, half scowling, half smiling. And even though my body ached at the loss of contact, I knew it was for the best.
    I laughed, trying not to betray the tension that was plaguing me.
    “Just for that, funny guy . . . you’re buying.”
    When the drinks came, I did as ordered and rose to pay. She stole my stool while I did, and when the bartender handed over the drinks, it all felt too familiar.
    I handed her a glass, and then began the worst battle with temptation so far. It was there in my hand, only inches away from my lips. And it would be so simple to let it happen. The memory of it was still trapped in my muscles, and I could feel them straining to lift the glass to my lips.
    “So, Hunt. Where are you from?”
    Distraction. Yes. Perfect.
    “Where am I not from would be the easier question.”
    “Military brat?”
    I wished. Dad just went where the money was.
    Trying to keep things light, I said, “Are you calling me a brat?”
    She crossed her legs, and my eyes followed.
    “If I were going to call you names, brat would not be my first choice.”
    My fingers brushed her ankle. I told myself it was okay because it was distracting me from the drink in my hand. The lesser of two evils.
    I said, “What would you call me, then?”
    “Well, I’ve already called you soft.” I tried not to groan at the memory of that night. If I’d thought leaving then was hard, tonight was going to be brutal. “But I’m not above admitting when I’m wrong.”
    My fingers drifted from her ankle up the back of her calf. She pointed her toe, and her leg bumped up against my hip.
    “What brings you to Budapest?” I asked.
    Her foot hooked around the back of my leg, her toes tickling the skin behind my knee. She smiled, all too aware of what she was doing to me.
    “Nothing in particular. It just seemed like an interesting place.” She used that foot to pull me forward, and I didn’t resist. “What about you?”
    I kept my touch light, even though I wanted to grip her legs and pull them open for me to slide between. “Following a whim,” I answered.
    Her tongue darted across her bottom lip, and I was a goner.
    She said, “Do you ever get any less cryptic?”
    “I thought women liked a mystery.”
    Her eyes were hooded, and I couldn’t even bring myself to feel