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I like Ciaran a lot.
I mean, I knew I liked how he kissed, how he brought me pleasure, and how he made me laugh, but sitting across from him in a ritzy hotel restaurant with low lighting and a violin playing, I realize I like him more than I assumed I could in such a short time, if that even makes sense. I don’t know. I just know I haven’t stopped smiling or giggling since he picked me up. When he picked me up, still in his suit, he didn’t even take in my whole outfit before he murmured, “Beautiful.”
Just that one word, and I don’t think I’ve stopped swooning.
Dinner is exquisite. The food is incredible, but the company is even better. I have never been so captivated by a man as I am with him. Each story he tells is a production, and I find myself on the edge of my seat as I listen. He grew up in Michigan with his mom and grandma. All his siblings were out of the house by the time he turned ten. He never met his dad and hasn’t cared to find him or have a relationship. He told me about the fact that he has been playing hockey since he was four. His older brothers played, and they found he was a natural. He played for the US team for the Olympics, and his travel team was one of the best in the States. He considered going to the Russian leagues so he could play more, but he really wants to make it here, and I respect that.
I respect him.
Ciaran isn’t like some of the hockey players I’ve met. Maybe it’s because Austen’s fiancé is already in the NHL, but a lot of his friends seem like they’re full of themselves. Like they’re God’s gift to hockey. But I don’t get that vibe from Ciaran. He’s confident and loves the sport, but unlike some I’ve met, he’s humble.
“I’ve got a question,” he says as he tucks his credit card back in his wallet.
“Yes?”
He gets up, holding his hand out for me, and I take it. He tucks my hand in his arm, and we start for the front door. “Are you and your sisters named after Jane Austen characters?”
I grin, and I don’t know why it pleases me that he put that together. “We are. My mom read every Jane Austen novel she could get her hands on when she was younger. My peepaw said he wanted her to know what true love was—though, that backfired.”
He brings in his brows as we walk out to the car. “How so?”
“My mom never found that true love. She just found trash,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t like talking about her.”
“I get it,” he says as he opens the door of his truck for me. He helps me in, but when I think he’ll shut the door, he reaches for me, gripping the back of my neck and pulling me to him. Our lips meet, and heat burns throughout my whole body. Chills run down my spine at his gentle touch, how his thumb moves below my jaw possessively. When we part, our eyes meet, and his lips curve up in a devastating smirk. “I wanted to do that all through dinner.”
My face breaks into a wide grin. “Why didn’t you?”
He shrugs. “I really don’t know, only that I couldn’t resist any longer.”
I kiss his top lip, cupping his face in my hands. “Don’t resist. Kiss me whenever you want.”
Pure heat fills his eyes, and a guttural groan leaves his lips before he takes my lips with more urgency. I gasp against his mouth, and that gives him the opening he needs. His tongue curves along mine, tasting me all over, and I’m lost in the kiss. It’s so deep, so thorough, and I can’t get enough. I thread my fingers through his hair, and he groans as he pulls back. “I will not take you in this truck with the whole city here to see us.”
“Why not?” I tease, my eyes playful and wanton.
He points to me, taking a step back. “You’re dangerous.”
“Duh,” I laugh, and he grins. “You’re just now figuring this out?”
He only laughs, shutting the door and coming around the truck. When he gets in, he starts the truck before taking my hand in his, lacing our fingers. It seems so natural, holding my hand on his thigh as he drives. I feel unsteady, and I can’t help but take in his profile. His long lashes, his puffy lips, and the coarse hair along his jaw. I want to run my lips, my nose, my fingers, hell, every single inch of myself along that hair.
“So, where did you grow up?”
I laugh because the better question is where haven’t I lived. I explain that we moved around a lot, leaving out the reason. The truth is that once people realized a cult was in town, they chased us off or got the authorities involved, thinking we children were in danger. We were, but we knew better than to admit that to anyone. “Think Amish. That’s how I grew up.”
“So, no technology?”
I nod. “Exactly. When I’d go to the bigger towns near wherever we lived, I’d get on the internet, and I’d watch TV because I was rebellious.”
“You?” he teases. “Rebellious? I don’t believe it.”
I giggle as I squeeze his hand. “Yeah, yeah,” I laugh, shaking my head, and it surprises me how badly I want to tell him everything. I’m beyond embarrassed about my past, and I never want to talk about it, not even with my sisters. I wish to leave all that crap in the past. I don’t want to relive a moment of it. “I only had my sisters, and we only had the Bible to read, which, thinking back, I wonder if it was even the real version. I don’t know, but my sisters and I made up games. We would go into the fields and make flower crowns. I learned how to cook for big groups by the time I was ten. I know how to make butter from scratch, milk a goat, and I can sew my own clothes if I wanted to. But I don’t,” I add, and he nods.
“So, when the apocalypse comes, you’re on my team.”
I snort at that. “Oh, absolutely. You’ll be the best dressed, best fed, and most fully sexually sated male in the world.”
He grins devilishly at me. “Sexually sated, huh?”
