Page 25 of Second Chance

“Open,” he demands, voice sharp, and my lids spring wide as my face heats. What was I thinking?

“You see me, Mati?” I do see him. His dark eyes peering down at me, deep as midnight over the ridges behind him. His face no more than an inch from mine and the prickle of his scruff teases me. His tongue peeks out and strokes over the lower of his lips. His mouth—his luscious looking, swollen mouth. God dammit. The throb ratchets up the beat to achy desire. “Do you see me?”

I don’t know what he’s asking. Yes, I see him, and I don’t understand why he’s not kissing me.

The thumb against my throat tightens—not in a threat—but more like possession. He could own me. I’d sell my soul to him, if he’d kiss me.

“Yes,” I squeak, again not recognizing the smoky hush in my voice.

“I see you, too, Spice. Only you.” I don’t know why he’s given me a new nickname, but I like it. I want to be spice. I want to be all kinds of spicy with him.

“What do you see?” My breath, now wheezing faster, mingles with his. His eyes roam my face, his thumb pressing under my chin, forcing me to hold his stare. He lowers his head and I pause, thinking his mouth will meet mine, but he slips to the right and skims my neck. His nose leads, tracing the vein exposed to him. If he were Edward Cullen, I’d be screaming for him to bite me. Instead, I will his teeth to take a nip. Just one nibble. It’d push me over the edge. I’m so wired, willing, wet, I could come from his closeness.

But he pulls back.

What? Nooooo…

His hand slips from my throat, and he releases my hip, which I didn’t realize he held. He blinks and turns his face toward the pub.

“Need a ride home?” he asks, completely breaking the spell. His eyes return to me as if he wants me to read them—read him—and I can’t. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, I don’t know what he wants me to see. I no longer know the man before me.

“I drove here.” I point in the general direction to my left although I hardly know my name let alone where I parked my black 4x4 truck.

He nods, and I ask the obligatory, “Where are you?”

He points to a white beast reflecting under the single light illuminating the gravel lot. It’s got a dark strip down the hood and looks expensive.

“Rental,” I scoff.

“Mine.” He pauses. “I took a road trip to get here.”

My heart drops. A road trip. I don’t know how to respond.

“Want to ride?”

I shake my head at the invitation. The mood dies within me. I’m suddenly bone tired. The win. The upset. The rejection.

“Maybe some other time,” I offer, slipping my hands in my jacket pockets. He nods and steps back, allowing me to press away from the pickup at my back.

“I’ll wait,” he offers. Does he mean he’ll wait for a ride? He’ll wait for me? “Your car…” His head tilts and I realize he’ll wait until I find my truck. I’m a fool. He’ll also wait until I enter it and drive off. That’s when it hits me.

He wanted to go for a ride…