Author's Note: Here is the second (and last) part of the story written for klcm's birthday! Happy belated! Thank you all for the reviews for last chapter!

Enjoy! ~ Angie

Placing a hand on the small of her back, Derek led Penelope to a secluded booth near the rear of the club. The space was dimly lit and sparsely occupied. Clearly the patrons were more interested in the dance floor and the bar than sitting. "Here," he told her, and she took a seat on one side of the table while he sat down on the other.

Even from where he'd been sitting in the back, he'd noticed her the instant she'd walked in—and wasn't pleased to realize that so had almost every other male in this place. She was hard to miss.

She was wearing a white tiered skirt made from a gauzy material. It stopped mid thigh, revealing her bare legs. And Derek Morgan loved legs—especially legs that didn't look like sticks. Her turquoise shirt had a v-neck, barely concealing his second most favorite body part. He studied her as she nervously looked around—interesting trait, he thought, for a woman who had men flock to her. "So, did you come alone?" she asked curiously.

He didn't speak her for a moment, just long enough to knock her off her game, he hoped—whatever that game might be. "I rarely come alone," he answered in a low drawl.

He watched a slow grin and a charming blush simultaneously make their way across her face. "OK, then."

"What about you?" he asked. "Your friend at the bar?"

"Yes," she answered, then cleared her throat. "But unfortunately I can't say the same."

He tilted his head to the side questioningly.

"I often…come alone," she admitted, lifting her water bottle to take a sip; her eyes never left his.

"I could help you with that problem," he said boldly.

Throaty laughter made its way up her throat as she grinned. "I didn't say it was a problem," she informed him.

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he returned her grin. "Touché."

"Whoo!"

Derek startled, so lost in his own little world with her that he'd practically forgotten they were in a public place.

"What are you doing way in the back, Birthday Girl?" a flamboyantly dressed man practically screeched as he settled himself into the booth beside Penelope. He turned his gaze on Derek, giving him a slow perusal. A satisfied grin made its way across the man's face. "Oh, I see," he said pointedly.

Derek shifted uncomfortably under the man's stare and glared back at him challengingly. Penelope bit her lower lip, trying to hold back a giggle.

The man cleared his throat. "I…see…that I am interrupting something," he continued. He kissed Penelope on the cheek. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he said, and then leaned closer to whisper something in her ear. And just as quickly as he'd arrived, he disappeared.

Penelope cleared her throat. "Taylor," she said as if the single word explained everything.

It was obvious by his nod that he neither understood, nor cared. "So…birthday girl," he commented. "Twenty nine?"

She grinned back—he was quickly winning her over. Though that had started the second he'd looked at her with those chocolate brown eyes of his. They'd been swimming with promises. Not of forever—thank God—but at least of tonight. It really was a shame she wasn't in the market for an all-nighter.

"So…did you make a wish?" he asked.

He knew she had by the way she bit her lower lip and blushed again. That made three, if his count was on.

"What did you wish for?" he wanted to know.

He saw indecision flicker across her face as she debated on whether or not to share her wish with him. He knew immediately that whatever she'd wished, he had the power to give it to her.

"I wished for…a hot kiss." She said it almost challengingly, as if she were daring him to make fun of her. That wasn't going to happen. He was a fan of hot kisses himself.

"Well, to each his own, I guess," he said with mock disappointment, as he slid out of the booth. She expected him to join her, but instead, he began to walk away.

"Wait!" she said, and he immediately turned around. "Where are you going?" she asked.

He frowned. "To get you a Hot Kiss."

"To ge—"

He gave her a teasing grin. "Irish whiskey, crème de menthe—"

"Irish whiskey? I—not that kind of a hot kiss!" she clarified, finally understanding.

"Oooh," he said, as if he'd just realized what she was saying. "OK."

Once again, he returned to his side of the booth, disappointing her. For God's sake. He'd picked her up, hadn't he? And she was practically begging him to kiss her! What was wrong with him? There was no way she could have misread his signals. She was in the middle of analyzing their entire conversation when he interrupted her thoughts.

"So…what are you going to do about making your birthday wish come true?" he asked.

Penelope had no idea where her boldness came from, but she was grateful for it. Without missing a beat, she stood and walked over to his side of the booth. Instead of sitting beside him, she placed one knee next to his thigh, and then swung her other leg over his lap so she was straddling him. The booth was large enough so her back wasn't even touching the table.

She'd clearly taken him by surprise, but when his hands clamped around her waist, it was clear he wasn't disappointed. She lifted her hands to grip the back of his seat and looked down at him, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "Is there even such a drink as a Hot Kiss?" she asked in amusement.

"Sure there is," he answered, and then grinned. "They named it after me."

"Prove it," she dared him.

His gaze fell to her plump, pink lips, lifted to her eyes, and then fell to her lips again. His hands lifted to cup the back of her neck, his fingers lacing together. His thumbs caressed the soft skin just behind her earlobes. She shivered from his mere touch and he growled his eyes still on her lips as he lifted his face to hers.

Penelope knew they had a spark, had since the moment they'd met. And if it had been up to her, his tongue would be assaulting hers right now.

Clearly he had other ideas.

He kissed each corner of her mouth tenderly; and when her mouth opened with a whimper, his tongue drew a path around her lips. When any other man would have gone for it, Derek Morgan ran his tongue back and forth over her bottom lip again and again, taunting her. It wasn't until she'd dropped her hands from the back of his seat and clamped them on his cheeks, thrusting her own tongue forth that she got to taste him.

He'd been slouching slightly in the booth to accommodate her, but as soon as her tongue met his, he straightened so he could angle his face above hers. My God, she tasted good—her flavor wasn't marred by liquor. And he had to practically wrestle her tongue to the floor of her mouth to dominate the kiss—he liked that. When he finally had control, he lightly licked the roof of her mouth as he lowered his hand. As one thumb continued stroking the flesh behind her ear, the other ran a light trail back and forth across her collarbone. She responded to everything he did—shivering beneath his stroking thumbs, whimpering as his tongue gently explored her mouth.

She trembled again, then gripped both of his wrists and lowered them to the area just above her knees before wrapping her arms eagerly around his neck. His hands moved upwards, stopping to squeeze a handful of thigh. He'd always loved a woman with meat on her bones. They continued their ascent until he was cupping her bare ass, pulling her lower body closer to his obvious erection. They travelled higher still, searching. "Holy fuck," he rasped, breaking the kiss. "You're not wearing panties."

She shook her head, grinning saucily. "I'm not big on panties," she admitted.

"Come home with me," he begged.

She shook her head. "No," she panted.

With the tip of his index finger, he traced a path around her waist and between her legs until he heard her sharp intake of breath. "Let me take care of that."

Penelope hissed as he lightly pinched the swollen core between her legs.

"No," she somehow managed to croak out, and then grinned. "You couldn't handle me."

Derek grinned smugly. "Trust me, sweetness. I could hold my own."

Her eyes danced. "Then you definitely don't need me," she said, pushing his hand away from her waist. She cleared her throat before straightening, and then moved so she was standing beside the booth. "I have to go," she said as she ran her hands over her skirt. "Thank you…for an amazingly hot kiss."

"Give me your number."

She shook her head.

"Please," he begged.

"I have to go," she repeated, then turned to leave.

"Where's Taylor?" Penelope asked looking around as she approached the table her friends were occupying.

"Restroom," Ashley said. "Where have you been?"

Penelope cleared her throat. "Dancing," she lied.

"With your tongue?" her friend Carissa chimed in. "Yeah, we saw you."

"How…? Taylor!" Penelope hissed.

Both girls grinned. "You bringing him home?"

"No, I am not bringing him home!" Penelope said. "I'm too old for that. I'm looking for something serious."

"I saw some serious kissing," Carissa said dryly, grinning when Penelope glared at her.

"You guys ready?" Taylor asked as he walked up to Penelope's side.

"Yes," she said. The sooner she got out of here, the better. She was still a bit dazed from that kiss. Practically intoxicated. It was amazing her number hadn't slipped out. Her gaze involuntarily shifted to the back booth—and he was gone.

Taylor grinned at her, nudging her with his shoulder. "Hussey."

Penelope's cheeks turned red.

"However, if you'd exchanged numbers—"

"We didn't," she cut in sharply.

Taylor grinned shamelessly. "That's not exactly true," he said, holding a matchbook with the club's logo up in front of his friend.

Penelope snagged it and flipped it open, then gasped. "You got his number?"

"Even better? I gave him yours," Taylor announced.