“You seem calmer,” she noted. Cautious optimism whispered through her words. “Is that calmness due to my incredible kissing talent?”
He found himself almost smiling, but then Preston caught himself. He shouldn’t smile when they were trapped. He shouldn’t smile when they could be dying. How in the hell had she made him want to smile right then and there? Another slow breath. Easy. Not too deep. Not too fast. Preston didn’t know how much air they had. Didn’t know how long they’d already been in the coffin.
Did she know?
How in the world had she ever gotten trapped with him?
How had he gotten trapped?
One of her hands rose and trailed lightly over his throat. The move caught him off guard, and Preston flinched.
He wasn’t used to people touching him. In fact, he tended to only touch someone when he fucked. A rather necessary situation.
But she’d been sprawled over him the whole time. She’d kissed him. And he hadn’t flinched.
Until now.
“Easy,” she whispered. “I will not hurt you.”
Why did her words sound like a vow?
Her soft fingertips fluttered over the pulse that raced along the side of his neck. “Your heartbeat is so fast.”
His fingers skimmed up her back. A delicate back. One covered by a light, silky shirt. His fingers eased round her body. Kept sliding and sliding…
And he touched her throat, too. His fingers curved around the delicate column of her neck. Sloane didn’t flinch when he stroked her. She didn’t tense. She remained loose and relaxed on top of him…buried in a coffin.
But…
She wasn’t really relaxed. He could feel the frantic drumming of her pulse beneath his touch. Far too fast. She was panicked. Terrified. Yet she was doing one incredible job of hiding her fear from him.
Admiration filled him. “I will not hurt you,” Preston heard himself say. His words were just as much of a vow as hers had been.
His fingers didn’t stay on her neck. They rose. Callused fingertips. Probably rough against her skin. Her touch had only been softness. He knew too little of softness.
His fingers glided along her jaw. Edged upward to curve under her chin. Then his fingers extended to feel the plumpness of her lips. He traced her lips with his index finger. Bow-shaped. Full.
She licked the tip of his finger.
“Sorry,” she murmured. Then, “Nah. Not sorry.”
He wasn’t sorry, either. His dick shoved hard against her. He wanted in her. To fuck his angel before he died?—
We are not dying.
His fingers skimmed along her cheekbones. High cheekbones. Did she suck in a breath when he touched her left cheekbone? He thought that she had. Why?
His fingers eased away from her left cheekbone. Drifted over the delicate line of her nose. He couldn’t see her with his eyes, but he could feel her with his touch. “Beautiful,” he said.
She laughed. “I bet you say that to every woman that you meet in the dark.”
How could she be laughing?
His hand went back to her throat. Felt that too fast racing of her heart. His fingers lingered on her. “How did we get here?”
Her pulse jerked beneath his touch.
In the dark, his eyes narrowed.
