Page 13 of Sterling Stone

He clears his throat. “I don’t really know how to do this, but I’d love to kiss you.”

“You don’t know how to kiss?” I question, certain he’s joking. His lips look like they were made for making out.

“Say good night,” he admits.

I press off the door and lean toward him. “I guess a kiss might be the best way to say it.” My voice drips, giving him every innuendo and indication that a kiss is exactly what I want.

Only, when his warm hand cups the side of my face, I stiffen. Not out of caution but in shock. Like the slow mixture of colors blending together. The heat of his hand is red to the blue inside me. The combination is a cool violet, full of lust and attraction, but also something deeper, something richer.

Then he kisses me.

The kiss is short and sweet but electric. A vibrant neon purple bolt of lightning rushes down my middle and cracks open my chest. His lips are soft, and the silver bristle around his mouth tickles, sending a second crackle straight to a part that hasn’t felt a spark other than from my own hand in a long time.

When he pulls back, practically dragging his lips from mine, the gentle blue in his eyes has turned to fierce sapphire. He cups the back of my head, pulling me back for a second round.

They say lightning never strikes twice. Whoever they are has never kissed this man.

The instant our mouths meet again, the flicker of our first kiss is overshadowed by sudden fireworks. Charges of white light and explosions of bright purple. His lips are still soft and full but commanding, like he knows how to take charge while remaining tender. Everything in me wants to surrender to him.

When the tip of his tongue slides along the seam of my mouth, my lips part, like my heart expands, allowing him to greet my tongue. My lower half arches toward him, a magnetic force beyond my control. Like he’s my new kryptonite. His other hand presses against my lower back, urging me closer to him, and sending more tingling sparks over my skin. Our tongues continue to sip and swirl, and we lock into whatever this strangely wonderful thing happening between us is.

Then a throat clears, and the soft patter of feet on carpet snaps us apart.

I step back, bumping into the closed door behind me, while my superman stretches his arms wide and braces his hands on the door frame, caging me in like he’s shielding me from our newest intruder.

I chuckle, and he chews at his lower lip, fighting a smile and dipping his head as someone passes behind him.

“Well,” I whisper, struggling to find more accurate words when I want to say, Come in. Stay awhile.

“Guess you better get inside,” he says, keeping the position of his arms wide and protective. But those eyes of his spiraled another notch in the color wheel. The shade is an intense blue that rivals midnight on a snowy evening.

And I’m frozen in place. I want nothing more than to feel the weight of him over me. Feel the strength in those arms wrapped around me. I want his kisses on my lips and neck and down my body to places long ignored.

“Delilah,” he struggles, the name strained.

Internally, I scream my actual name for him, wanting to hear it in the same way as this nickname.

“Go inside,” he whispers, like he’s hanging on by a thread, and all I need to do is invite him in. Give him permission to enter.

But I don’t.

Instead, I suck in all this buzzing energy, swirling both around me and inside my belly, and spin for the lock pad, scan my hotel card, and slip inside the room with a final glance back.

He hasn’t moved.

“Goodbye, Superman,” I whisper before slowly closing the door, keeping my eyes on him until the last possible second. When I finally shut it, I fall against the barrier, like I’m spent from exertion. The sheer willpower to walk away. I tip back my head and breathe out a heavy breath.

What the hell am I doing?

That man has subpoenaed my vagina, but another organ overrules. My heart screams be careful here.

Still, I spin, peeking through the security peephole to find him standing in the same position for another second before he pushes away from the door frame and swipes both his hands down his face, like he’s just as affected as I am.

Why didn’t he ask to come inside?

Why didn’t I invite him in?

But that’s the crux of things.