Free Slow Hands by Leslie Kelly

parted her lips slightly, to share a warm breath with him.
    Jake inhaled it, tasting her, letting himself be filled by her essence. The kiss remained light, sweet, innocent. They were joined only by the softest brush of lips and scrape of his fingers on her cheek. And he knew that despite how desperately he wanted to sink his tongue into her for a fuller taste, he couldn’t deny himself the sweetness of this simple, innocent pleasure.
    Finally, when he no longer trusted himself to keep it simple and innocent, he slowly pulled away. “I’m sorry.”
    “Sorry you kissed me?” she whispered, blinking a few times as if she’d just awakened from a dream.
    He shook his head. “Sorry I had to stop.”
    “Oh.”
    He shifted in his seat, trying to stretch his long legs in the cramped front seat, wondering if she’d noticed how much tighter the fit was now that he’d let himself give in to the need to taste her. Especially the fit of his jeans.
    “That was supposed to be a friendly kiss hello.”
    “Aren’t those usually on the cheek?”
    “I think they’re usually in the air an inch from the cheek in your social set, aren’t they?”
    She nodded, her choppy, audible breaths finally slowing as she, too, returned to normal. “Yes.” Then, not meeting his eye, she added, “But I think I like your way better.”
    * * *
    T HE AFTERNOON was everything Maddy had dreamed it would be. Her twenty-five thousand dollars had bought her nosebleed seats at a game the Cubs were about to lose. But it didn’t matter. She was so excited to be in the crowd, experiencing live Major League Baseball the way she’d always imagined it would be, that she simply didn’t care.
    Jake treated her like the girl-next-door she’d proclaimed herself to be. And he—despite his supposedly international upbringing, which she’d seen absolutely no evidence of since they’d met—was playing the role of all-American boy as if he’d invented it. It was hard to believe he was anything other than a normal, hardworking guy from any small town, rather than a paid escort competed over by rich women.
    Maybe Tabby made a mistake .
    No. It wasn’t a mistake. She’d told Maddy the exact number, and their stepmother and her cronies had bid like wild women on Bachelor Number Nineteen. Plus, from what Maddy remembered about his bio in the program, it had said he liked to travel the world in search of beautiful women and sexy adventures.
    Not quite like the guy cheering on the home team beside her. So he obviously wore a different persona depending on the situation. She honestly didn’t know, however, which was the real man.
    “Want some peanuts?” he asked, already flagging down a vendor.
    “I think that was on my list of requirements for today,” she admitted.
    Jake grinned, put an icy-cold beer in her hand, and glared down anyone around them who got too close with their wildly gesticulating arms and elbows.
    He also kept up a running commentary on the game, explaining all the plays. She let him. It seemed such an innate man thing—the need to explain sports to the little woman—that she didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d been a star of her college fast-pitch softball team. She’d even thought about going further with it and shooting for the national team.
    Maddy might be soft from several years working in the bank, but she’d once been pretty damned athletic. She’d even considered breast reduction surgery. Sport bras did not do much to help a woman with a D cup. Her teammates used to joke that one day, if she bounced too much as she ran, she’d knock herself out.
    Maddy had given up her Olympic hopes when her father had gone through his last divorce, from his third wife. Maddy had been so worried about him, she’d decided to go home after graduation, rather than pursue that dream.
    Which meant her breasts were safe. And prominent enough to draw the gawking attention of a few guys around her. She’d heard the comments from a creep