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“I always wished I could talk as well as some people,” he admitted, his voice going rough. “Like you do.”
He seemed suddenly vulnerable and hesitant with his admission. I lifted my hand and set it against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under my fingers.
“You talk just fine,” I said.
But he shook his head. “No. Not like you. You always know what to say.”
I snorted. “Uh, no. No, I don’t.”
He nodded, disagreeing, before his hand left my hair to cup my cheek tenderly, where his thumb stroked my jaw and sent tingles through me. “Whenever you talk, I just want to kiss you.”
“You do?” My lips parted in awe. But seriously…
Had I said wow yet? Because this was just so wow.
“Okay, I’m good with that,” I answered. But then I frowned, growing suddenly uncertain, hoping I hadn’t read what he’d said all wrong. So I pointed to the ground between us. “Like, right now, you want to—?”
He nodded and eased closer. Licking his lips as he watched me intently.
Shit. He really did want to kiss me.
“Okay,” I repeated, whispering it this time. I slipped my hand across his chest to his shoulder and grinned triumphantly when he shuddered out a groan over the contact. “But if we’re going to do this...” I started.
He paused and furrowed his brows in confusion. So I finished, “I want you to be your true, unadulterated self with me. Alright? Don’t hold you back.”
That caused him to blow out a shaky breath and shake his head. “I’m pretty blunt and direct,” he warned. “And physical.”
Grinning, I nodded. “Yeah, I can tell. I find that to be really hot and exciting, though.”
His gaze brightened with hope. “You do?”
I nodded.
Releasing a relieved breath as if he’d actually had doubts that I would ever reject him, he slid his hand down from my cheek to the side of my neck.
“I hate talking,” he went on, explaining himself. His thumb stroked gently over the voice box on the front of my throat. “I like it better when someone else does all the talking. I love listening to words, lots of words. But I don’t like making them. I’d rather show than tell.”
“Well, then, you’re in—oh Jesus!” I gasped when he leaned in and set his mouth on the side of my throat where he’d just touched me. Gripping his shoulder, I tipped my head back, letting him keep on doing exactly what he was doing.
“Don’t stop talking,” he ordered, pausing the kiss to look into my eyes. “You be the words; I’ll be the action.”
I grinned. Yes, I could definitely try dating this man.
“Okay,” I rasped, knowing with everything inside me that we’d get along just fine. “Okay. So, like I was saying before, you are in so much luck because I love to talk. I can carry on a whole conversation with myself, and I hate competing for air time when another big talker is in the room. Hell, I’ve been known to talk in my sleep, so if you really don’t mind, I can—holy shit!”
He backed me into the nearest wall and tugged the hem of my shirt from my pants. Groaning in pleasure when he ripped the cloth over my head to expose my chest, I reached for his shirt too. And he fucking let me.
“Yeah, you don’t seem to mind,” I answered for him.
He smiled and shook his head, then plastered his firm lips to mine. I moaned and pressed against him, winding my hands up into his hair this time and gripping hard.
Yep, I’d called it. He was definitely the intense type. And a total whirlwind too.
As I was sucked into the storm that was Maverick St. James, I could only thank the movie Monster House for providing Trick with enough irritation that he would drag me from the house and straight to this man’s doorstep.
Because I had just found my nirvana.
The End
