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His long fingers wrap around mine and squeeze lightly, enough to let me feel the coiled strength in them. He smells spicy and musky, a little tangy and sweet.
A shiver goes through me. My breasts ache, and heat spreads between my legs.
Oh my God. Never gotten wet at a man’s scent, at the fragile sky blue of his eyes, the power in his hands. I’m dizzy, and I want to close my eyes, but I can’t look away from him. Can’t break away.
I’m not exactly new to this game, I think, my mind fizzling out as he tugs me closer to him. But I sure am more familiar with breaking into houses than attraction to a man. And this… this is new. This is a first.
It’s a matter of frequency, and the rarity of it is killing me.
He pulls me until our bodies touch, lighting up a line of fire between us, hip to shoulder. My breathing is shaky, unsteady. This is crazy. How can he affect me so much? I feel like I’m treading water, and he’s my lifeline.
“You’re warm,” I whisper, my mouth dry, my brain on shut-down. “So warm.”
“That’s because of you,” he says, and that makes no sense.
No sense at all, and I’m way out of my depth.
Move away, Ray.
So I do, taking one step back, and it’s like walking through glue, my feet reluctant to lift off the ground. I try, though, taking one more step back—and he follows.
His hand lifts to my face and I shiver at his touch, rough and hot as I remember it. “Shit, you’re cold. Let’s go inside.”
“So you’re warm because I’m cold?” He’s still holding my hand, pulling me behind him around the lit-up pool, and I hurry to keep up with his long strides. “How’s that logical?”
“Does it have to be?” There’s a smile in his voice, and I shake my head, my mouth twitching. “Here.” He opens a glass door and stands back, waving me inside. “Please.”
I debate briefly with myself whether I should take off my sand-covered sandals, then just toe them off and step inside. Cool tiles under my feet, a huge space with high ceilings and white walls opens around me.
Wow. The sitting area is round, set in a sunken area of the enormous room, with multicolored cushions making a splash on the light beige sofas. To my left I can see a kitchen, and to my right a dining area with huge bay windows set in a semi-circle letting in the night. A low lamp illuminates the round, polished table and the high-backed chairs covered in dark cloth.
He gestures at the table.
I hesitate. I pinch my arm, and ow, the pain tells me this is real. It looks like a magazine spread. Or a fairytale, and I don’t do fairytales.
Never have.
“What’s the matter?” He’s watching me intently, and his full mouth tightens. “If you’d rather eat outside…”
“No, that’s fine.” I move in the direction of the dining area, my steps dragging, although they’re getting lighter. “This is…”
Incredible. Like a dream.
And I don’t believe in dreams, either. But I wouldn’t mind living in one for a little while.
***
The table is set for two. White dishes, stark against the bare mahogany, fluted wine glasses and shiny silverware. Cloth napkins, folded on the side, and a ceramic hot pot holder. Spotlights hidden over the bay windows highlight the corners of the room, casting a warm, soft glow on the scene.
“On today’s menu is lasagna. Hope you’re not vegetarian.”
“That’s fine.”
He approaches the table leisurely, that slight roll in his gait reminding me of some sort of big cat. Maybe a panther, dark and dangerous—and the way the jeans hang off his lean hips, God. A fine trail of hair leads from his navel into his pants, and a deep V cuts from his hips down. Mouthwatering.
He comes to stand beside me, and I can’t help but stare at the red scar in his side. Recent. Surgical. I give in to the urge to touch it. It’s smooth, glassy.
He jerks back, knocking into the table and rattling the silverware. He lifts a hand to his side, dark brows knotting over his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”
