Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
It was a smooth move, too quick for me to react, too natural for me to fight. He held me against him and looked into my eyes in a moment, not of hesitation, but of anticipation. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to mine.
God. It was a soft kiss that asked permission. My hands weakened against his suit, and I gave up with the second kiss, one that brushed more firmly across my lips, opening my mouth. In the third kiss, he owned me, the contact deepening, a delicate play between two mouths born for each other, one where arousal flared, breaths quickened, and our hands tightened and traveled, first needy, then frantic. It was a kiss that seduced, then branded. A kiss where he gave as much as he took, and I lost as much as I gained.
He broke free, and my world spun back into place. I tried to find my thoughts, my sanity, my control. How had he decimated everything with just a kiss?
Ten
“I should go back to my friends.” I stepped back, one heel skidding across the floor, and I grabbed the railing to keep upright. He watched me closely, in complete control of himself, and I hated how calm he looked at a time when my heart was galloping around my chest.
“Don’t leave.” He stepped forward and I shrank a little against the railing. He stopped, considered me, and then withdrew, his hands raised. “Okay. Maybe I misread you. I’m sorry about that.”
He didn’t misread me. In fact, if he could read anything, he’d know I was a half-second away from barreling into his arms and getting another kiss. My weight stuttered on my stilettos, torn between sprinting toward the exit and flinging myself at him.
I’d kissed a lot of men in my life, but never had an experience like that. I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t want that level of chemistry infused in a situation I was already struggling with. Why had I come up here? Why had I let the girls bring me to this club? Why had I answered his text?
I edged toward the stairs, each step a struggle in self-control. I don’t like to waste my time, Bell. If you don’t want me to chase you, I won’t. I could leave. Walk down those steps, find my friends, and go. Never see Dario Capece again.
The thought wounded me, and the fact that I cared? That absolutely terrified me. The confident girl who had tossed back barbs with this man just minutes ago was gone, rattled to the core by the impact of that kiss.
A kiss. Two lips touching. Colliding. Deepening. It happened a thousand times a day, yet I didn’t seem to be able to handle this one.
“Don’t worry.” His words stopped my retreat and I looked at him, finding a moment of grounding in the solidness of his eye contact. “I won’t kiss you again unless you ask me for it.”
The sentence had enough mocking ego in it for my backbone to peek her head out of hiding. I straightened a little, forced my vocal cords to work, and attempted a dismissive sniff.
It didn’t do much, but I still saw the softening of his eyes, the hint of a smile on those deliciously addictive lips. God, I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted to shove him down in one of those club chairs, hike my dress around my waist, and grind my panties across the seam of his zipper. I wanted his hands in my hair, my skin against his skin, and to see in his eyes some of the discomposure I felt rippling through me.
For me, sex had always been about control. Now, just from a kiss, I felt powerless and afraid. Needy for more.
It made no sense.
“How many women do you sleep with?” My palm was sweaty, and I clutched the railing tighter, my need for information winning the battle against flight.
He tilted his head at me. “I have a mistress of sorts. And a waitress I occasionally fuck.”
“It seems like you’ve got enough women already. Why go after more?”
“They don’t mean anything to me. Maybe I’m ready for someone who does.”
It was a reference to more than just passion and pleasure, and the sort of statement that normally had me breaking out in hives. I didn’t flinch, and it was official. I’d gone completely mad.
“Tell me about this boy toy of yours from the university.”
His tone was so innocent, the comment so loaded. It caused my attention to flee relationship talks, ricochet off the man who had followed me, and plunge into a pool of fear. He knew about Ian. I had forgotten, for a moment, who he was.
“Stay away from Ian.” Fear crystallized deep in my ribcage. I’d heard the stories. There were some casinos you could fuck with. Count cards. Get sloppy. There were others you avoided. Dario Capece’s, you avoided. Did he rule his relationship prospects with the same iron fist?