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It scrapes out of me once we break apart, as rough as my hand against her head. And my other hand, now dipping under her dark red jacket and exploring the curve of her waist. The wine glass that was in it has gone to places unknown, and I don’t even care. All that matters now is tugging her blouse free from her waistband and getting to her skin. And reveling in the feel of it. And the shiver I induce from her in return.
“Darian,” she gasps out and I’m already clenching back the craving to correct her. I’m almost ready to give a testicle just to hear the real thing on her lips. To have her see me as Dario. The man who’s been waiting so damn long to find her.
For the express purpose of killing her.
No. Fuck. No!
“Darian? Hey. What’s wrong?”
I suck in a deep breath. Give my head a violent shake, pushing away the accountability of an answer.
“Come here,” I husk, drawing her close again. Ah, there’s my answer. My focus on what matters in this moment alone. The pleasure I’ll take before the pain. The ecstasy I’ll give her before the horror. “Come here, Quinn.”
I give the order just to see what it does to her. How she responds to my authority. How she shivers and sighs and melts against me. How she helps me in stripping off everything above her waist, until I’m gazing at the glory of her naked and erect breasts.
How she moans as I take one between my lips.
“Oh!” Her carotid jumps beneath my stroking thumb, as I secure her to me with a grip along her nape. “Oh…my God.”
The expression, burst by so many women in my arms over the decades, has long since been drained of its allure—until now. Until this woman, making it shine like new again. A long-lost jewel. The discovery I never knew I needed.
The reason I turn my mouth to her other breast. And take her in with exactly the same force. Treasuring her skin. Savoring her bud. Worshipping every inch of her full, perfect peak…
Until she’s gasping twice as hard.
And then gripping into my hair, urging me to stay close. Closer. Until my air is nothing but her jasmine scent and my blood matches the erotic urgency of hers. Until I’m biting at her nipple and rejoicing in every second of her desire…
But then biting out a curse, as she abruptly jerks away.
Swearing softly at myself, as she lurches to her feet and pulls her hands up. Covering her beautiful chest—and all the marks I’ve made on it. Imprints that, to my disgust, swell even more blood into every inch of my cock. Seeing my possession over her, in such blatant ways, does things to me. Things I shouldn’t be acknowledging. Can’t be feeling.
“I’m sorry.”
Her outburst has me gaping. “You’re sorry?”
She shakes her head with violent jerks. “I didn’t come here to do this. It’s not fair to take advantage of you like—”
“Quinn.” I jolt to my feet too. “Is that what you want to talk about now? Fairness?”
Her hands, curled together in the knoll between her clavicles, push together by another inch. “Now I don’t think I’m following.”
Words flow easily to my mind, a generous gift from their deep source in my spirit. “You know what I think is unfair? Getting a gift from kismet like this—what we knew to be true, from the moment I walked into your little office today—and then spitting in its eye with denials and shame and fear.”
Before I finish, she’s hurling a bitter laugh. “Oh, yeah. My little office. The closet even Blanca won’t let me keep, if it gets out that I got naked for you tonight.”
“Half naked,” I cut in. “But just so we’re even…”
I finish with a wink before whipping my Henley off. As I ball it up and lob it into the corner beyond the piano, I’m lost about how to interpret her answering groan.
“Okay, screw unfair. That’s just playing dirty, mister!”
She turns away after circling a finger the vicinity of my torso but then pivoting away. I’m already smirking, because she’s taken down the walls of her modesty—or whatever that was—once more. She’s back in all her unabashed glory, my modern Venus with her lush chest and flowing red raiments. The palazzo pants swirl around as she does the same, darting a new gawk at my own basic fashion statement. The effect is pretty but I still curse the trend. Those trousers will be trickier to peel from her than traditional goddess wear. But I’m already determined—translation, obsessed—about making it happen.
“Dirty, hmmm?” I close the space between us with one slow step. Another. “But who says I’m playing?”
As I take a third step, her air stutters. Her lips part. And both of her beautiful breasts rise and fall…as her nipples noticeably stiffen.
I need no further invitation. Or confirmation.
