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High Sticking the Heart

Page 52

by Marie Maravilla

“Ahh! It’s happening.” She clapped her hands, ignoring whatever his name was as he called out, asking what was going on. “I’m telling you, you two are going to fall in love.”

I rolled my eyes, focusing on taming my hair.

“This whole thing is fake, Graciella. Remember?”

She let out a hum, turning to leave. “Until it’s not, Ariella. Until it’s not…”

Dalton:

Ariella, you better come get in the car. Or your neighbors are about to be pissed that I’m banging on their doors.

Dalton:

And I’ll tell them it’s your fault for not following directions.

Did he speed here or what? And why did my stomach do a weird flip when he mentioned me following his directions?

It felt like he’d just told me he was coming to pick me up, and now he was rushing me to get out the door and into his posh leather seats. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that part of me wanted to stay where I was to see if he really would knock on every door to find me, but the sounds coming from Gracie’s bed made that decision for me.

“Bye, kids. Make sure you use protection,” I called out, running and trying not to look too closely at what was happening in the blanket they were hiding under.

God. I really needed to move into a place where I’d have my own bedroom—with a door.

The door was the key element.

I practically skipped down the stairs to the guest parking spots in the garage, my stomach performing acrobatic feats the closer I got. When I rounded the corner, I stopped in my tracks. Instead of waiting inside the way I’d expected, he leaned back, booted feet crossed at the ankles.

My mouth went dry the farther up his jean-clad legs I dragged my gaze. They fluttered shut when I hit his thighs and that sinful spot where his jeans bunched up at the crotch, giving just enough of an impression of what was behind the zipper.

He had plenty going on there. I already knew from his shorts.

Híjole, I needed to find a confession booth for these mental images.

“Are you praying?” My eyes popped open at the sound of his deep rumble. The crooked grin, slight five-o’clock shadow, sharp jawline, mossy eyes…it was all too much. “Plan on sinning tonight, darlin’?”

And there went my panties.

Had I been out of the game that long, I’d forgotten the mouths on men? Or was the particular skill of incinerating my chonies a specialty only Dalton had?

My guess was the latter, but I didn’t want to dwell on that reality too long.

He chuckled at how he’d left me stunned, unable to come up with anything remotely appropriate to say. Dalton never failed to surprise me with his mouth.

Wholesome hockey captain to the public, but this man had something else lurking under that polished surface, and I liked what he showed me.

Finally, I managed to get my mouth working.

“Depends, Dalton.” I moved in close enough that we were nearly touching, trying to act as casually as possible while my heart raced like a workhorse.

I relished the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his corded neck, how his eyes nearly glowed as he dragged them over my body, stopping when he reached the sliver of tanned skin below my white cropped tank and above the waistband of the cut-off jeans shorts I’d thrown on.

He cleared his throat, uncrossing his legs to stand with them splayed out. I smirked, guessing what might require adjustment.

“On?”

“If you use that line on all the girls you threaten to throw over your shoulder?”

His expression grew serious, and he closed the gap between our bodies, so close I had to tilt my chin to keep our eyes locked. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’ve never told another woman I’d knock on every door in a building to find her. And it wasn’t a threat, Ari. It was a promise.”