The Sweet Under His Skin by Portia Gray

gang."
    She swallowed. "Sure. This club, is that…your job? How you make your money?"
    He was grinning wide as he finally broke eye contact. "I'm a mechanic. I fix vehicles. I got the tax forms to prove it." Then his eyes stayed on her until she nodded. Suddenly he pulled the plug on the sink, making her jump a bit.
    "Th-Thank you," she stammered, offering him the dishtowel to dry his hands. He did so while she held the end, which was odd. She'd expected him to just take it from her. This meant she was looking up at him, and he was looking at her, too. She was fidgety as she realized it, not sure if letting go meant she was intimidated. Or wondering why she was over-analyzing everything so much.
    "Thanks for letting me come over," he replied, and she had to remember the last thing she'd said.
    "Oh," she said stupidly, nervous, "no problem. It's…it's nice to see Calvin with an adult male influence. I'm terrified I'll make him a hen-pecked mess."
    "And I'm the opposite of that."
    She had to laugh. "Yes. I'd say you are." He was done drying his hands, so she set the towel on the counter. "Well, good night, Quentin," she said, not sure what was supposed to happen next.
    He tilted his head a bit, almost like he was curious, then took a step closer. Like an idiot, she didn't back away. His eyes ran over her face, and that blue stare was unsettling but not because it was scary.
    She felt herself inhale deeply. His hand went to her cheek, then to the side of her jaw, tilting her chin up a bit. His hands were rough, very warm from the water. They felt over-sized on her skin.
    Arielle might have stopped breathing. She wasn't sure, she had other things to worry about. Like how his eyes tracked the motion of her tongue licking her lower lip. Why'd she do that? Without knowing how, she found her hands on his sides. Maybe she meant to push him away. Well, she failed.
    He was too close. He was warm. He smelled…really good, actually. And that shirt on him was incredibly flattering; she'd noticed how it brought out his eyes right when he arrived.
    When his face softened the faint lines at his brow lightened a bit, but she could still see them. They were nice. They gave him a lot of character. He was freshly shaved, maybe that was what she smelled, aftershave. His short hair looked soft and looked a little wild, but it suited his eyes and laugh and smile and presence perfectly.
    He lived, smelled, looked and felt unlike anything she'd ever known in her narrow existence. Being this close to all that unbridled life was…exciting, as it turned out.
    One of his hands was on her shoulder blade, and it ran downward, pulling her in. She didn't resist; his eyes were on hers and it was like her skin was being peeled raw. Sensitive. His shirt against her bare arms was like a touch of him.
    "Um…" she tried to say something intelligent, but that was where it ended.
    The hand still on her jaw slid to the back of her neck, reeling her against him, and just as her body collided into his she found her mouth swallowed up by his lips.
    There was a lot happening at once. His chest against hers was hard and warm, his arm looping around her lower back strong and tight. A possessive gesture, almost. More aggressive than she was used to.
    But she didn't worry about that. Because his mouth, his lips, oh good God that was the best part of it all. Jesus…
    Christ.
    Aunt Arielle was a sensory experience he never anticipated. Quentin had kissed plenty of women before who were happy to be getting it on with a Dead Man. None of them were cute girl-next-door types who blushed when they realized he was checking out their rack; a blush than ran down their neck and onto the skin in question. Who became breathy and flustered just with eye contact. Who would lick their bottom lip and have no clue how that action could drive a guy insane.
    Of course he was aware that her hands were on his waist. He was waiting for her to push him off. She didn't, and when he eased her