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Prising his eyes open, he focused on the perpetrators. ‘Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all. They’re pretty little...ballerina pumps. I think that’s what they’re called.’
‘Do you know you pause when you lie?’
Great.
‘Okay, okay. They’re slippers.’
Her gorgeous face fell in horror and if she’d been any other woman he suspected she would have burst into tears. Not Serena.
‘They are?’
‘Cute ones,’ he said quickly. ‘With little leopard spots on.’
Dismay vaulted into pique and she visibly vibrated before him. ‘I refuse to feel stupid just because you know more about women’s stuff than I do, considering how many you’ve had.’
He divined that any figure she could engineer would be highly exaggerated, but still... ‘Agreed.’ If she felt stupid she wouldn’t let him take a peek at her belly button, now, would she?
‘Fine. Go on, then. Get it over with. Take a look. But know this: I couldn’t care less for your opinion.’
‘Liar.’ He brushed the pad of his thumb from the corner of his mouth across his bottom lip, eking out the suspense of the moment, then bent his knees and lowered himself into an elegant crouch.
Serena raised the fabric of her T-shirt with an innate feminine sensuality she wasn’t even aware she possessed and vicious need clawed at his gut.
One look and he cursed softly.
All the will in the world couldn’t have stopped him. Out sneaked his tongue and he licked the small loop and diamond-studded ball.
Cool was the silver against the tip of his tongue, and her soft flesh was a welcome splash of warmth as an aftertaste.
Holy...
She tasted of passion fruit and coconut and something else he couldn’t quite catch, so he knew it would torment him.
That was it. He was a goner. He even felt his eyes roll into the back of his head. Wondered if hers were doing the same.
‘You got any more?’ he asked thickly, nuzzling her navel with the tip of his nose. All the while he was commanding his legs to stand up and back the hell away.
‘M...more?’ she said, or at least she tried to.
The way her midriff quivered he could tell her breathing was as bad as his.
‘Piercings.’
‘Piercings?’
What was she? A parrot?
‘Yes!’
‘No. No more...piercings.’
He moaned low in his throat. ‘But something else, right?’
Silence. Only the staccato wisp of a desperate moan from her lips.
‘Tell me,’ he demanded.
So of course she said, ‘No.’
‘Oh, man, you’re killing me, Serena.’ Up he came, standing tall to press closer. To crush those gorgeous breasts against his chest.
When was the last time he’d felt like this? Like his old self but astoundingly better because his ever-present guard was low. Risky. So risky.
But when was the last time he’d thought about anything but Singapore? In one way it physically hurt to be near her, aware that he caused her pain. But in the next second he was a man again and there was heat. So much heat. Scorching his blood in a rush of need and pure want. Never had he felt anything like it.
Selfish as always, he wanted—no, needed one more taste.
‘I warned you, baby. You should’ve left when you had the chance.’
Desperate to savour as much of her as he could, he dived into the heavy fall of her hair and closed the gap until they were nose-tip to nose-tip.
‘This is crazy, but—do you feel this?’ he asked, unable to hide the awe in his voice.
Fighting to keep her eyes open, she shook her head, rubbing his nose with her own. ‘No...’ she breathed on a hot little pant.
‘Good. Me neither.’
Softly, languidly, he brushed his lips over her velvety pink flesh and the pounding of his heart jacked out of rhythm. Then the need that continually clawed at him grew steel-tipped talons and slashed through his gut, demanding he mark her, take her, glut himself on her.
And she was melting. There was no other word for it.
‘I’m...’ Hard. So hard. For the first time in almost a year.
Thought obliterated, he crushed her body into the wall, then slanted his head and deepened his kiss. Like dynamite they ignited, and when she responded with a tentative stroke of her tongue his hands began to shake.
Her mouth was heaven—warm and wet, with the slip and slide of passionate lips—but, greedy as he was, he wanted more. A deeper connection. He longed for her to move, to touch him properly, covet his body with her small hands, be skin-to-skin. Claim him. Brand him as her own. Which was not only bizarre but hellishly scary.
Still the need went on. Because he wanted her to feel how hard he was for her, to know what she did to him, how sexy and desirable she was—
