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Another speculative gleam entered his silver gaze.
Oh, hell. She had to mention beds and sleeping, which led to her thinking of sleeping—with him—and damn if he wasn’t looking at her again as if he could see right through her skin. Right through her skin and to her cardiovascular system that had suddenly become a supersonic speedway.
He touched her knee and she jumped. The skimming contact felt like a sting.
“Ouch.” He looked down at his fingers. “You burn.”
“Then keep your hands off,” she grumbled.
Rubbing it against his jeans, he glanced back up at her face. “Not sure that’s possible.”
Yeah, well, she wasn’t sure that was possible either. After she’d left the other day with Juliet’s package, distance and her common sense had kicked in. True, she was impulsive, sometimes incautious, hyper-energetic, and often caustic, but she wasn’t stupid. Instead of making plans to head back to Malibu and chance running into Dean again, she’d slapped a new address label on Juliet’s package and remailed it at her local post office.
And yet, here she was again.
She had to figure out why this man—from the moment he’d gazed at her from those cool silver eyes—fascinated her. She didn’t fascinate easily. Hell, she didn’t think she’d ever been fascinated at all.
Until Dean Long had looked at her. Especially after Dean Long had touched her.
There had to be an explanation, she thought, rubbing her knee and surprised to find he hadn’t burned a hole clear through the fragile mesh. So far, she was betting on that mystery factor. He’d gone out of his way to be all he-man inscrutability. Getting to the bottom of him would surely end her overblown interest.
She propped an elbow on the breakfast bar and sent him her most winning smile. “So why don’t you tell me every little thing about you?”
“I’m the strong and silent type.”
Okay, so she wasn’t all that practiced at winning smiles, but did he have to be so uncooperative? Curbing her normal impatience, she only jiggled one foot while trying to look sweet—even with her teeth clenched. “Well, let’s start with your birth date. Or gee, if you find that’s just too personal, how about your astrological sign?”
“Who’s trying to pick up whom now?”
She snorted. Whoops, there went sweet. “Just give me the info, damn it.”
Leaning into the back of the stool, he crossed his arms over his chest and grinned at her. “Now that’s more like it. No point in faking the sugar when vinegar looks so good on you, angel.”
“Why won’t you just answer my questions?”
“Because you look so cute when you fume.”
Beyond annoyed, she launched out of her stool. Maybe he thought she was going to get violent, because suddenly he stood, too, and his big hands curled around her wrists. “Don’t hurt me,” he said, grinning again.
His fingers were bands of heat and that warmth was shooting up her bare arms, leaving prickly goose bumps in their wake. Instead of struggling to be free, she went still. “Maybe,” she heard herself say, her voice quiet, “that should be my line.”
Alarm bells sounded in her head. No, no! The words sounded female and weak and it was as if he’d already managed to rub away her sharp edges and evaporate the acid from her tongue. With a yank of her hands, she tried pulling free of him, but he ignored her struggles and jerked her closer.
White satin bodice met white cotton T-shirt. She was aware of the little silver teardrop she carried with her always, now tucked between her breasts, but she was even more aware of Dean’s heartbeat. It thumped, steady and strong, against the double-time that was her own.
He smelled like laundry soap and then, as his mouth descended, she caught the scent of cinnamon. And then she tasted the red-hot flavor as his breath brushed against her lips. “Shall we try this, Marlys?”
No!
Yes.
Certainly not.
Please now.
Never in a million years would she admit it, but she didn’t have the voice to utter a single one of her conflicting responses. So she threw each to the wind and answered in the only way left to her. Marlys-the-Brash went on tiptoe to close the gap between them.
His kiss burned, too. She opened her mouth to cool the flames and his tongue took up the invitation. He stroked inside her mouth, strong and sure. Oh. Oh, wow.
To bolster her sagging knees, she pressed against his chest even as her head dropped on her neck, letting him take what he wanted.
He didn’t take enough. With a small groan, he lifted his head to press a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth, her nose, her chin. “I’m thirty years old. Aries. April second.”
