He started to smile, that slow, deep smile, all his brooding fading away. His body angled in over hers, until his good arm braced against the door above her head. That smile, from that position, made hot sensations twirl all through her body. “And what do you have, Bouclettes?” His free hand came up to catch the tip of one curl and tug it gently outward, his gaze following it, fascinated. “How many men am I going to have to fight for you?”
Her scowl disintegrated in pure delight at the flattery. And his words—as if he was willing and ready to fight for her. God, his eyes from this close were gorgeous. They reached deep inside her and melted her middle out. Her breath shortened from his proximity, the angle of his body over hers. “Nobody,” she said. “I’ve been out there on my own for a while.”
A ghost of self-pity swept through her, a powerful hold me, wrap me up so I’m not alone anymore.
“You must like it, then.” He let her curl relax back into its shape and cupped a handful more, squeezing them gently. “Being on your own. If you haven’t let someone grab you.”
Her self-pity broke under the force of her pleasure. Damn, but he was flattering.
“It’s hard to find the person you…you fit with.” She pushed one hand into the other to try to illustrate.
After she’d figured out relationships that got started on the tour circuit tended to be very bad for her—too loose, too easy, too fueled by loneliness and performance highs—she’d stopped forming them. But her music career had sucked her in and swallowed her whole, so that it wasn’t as if she’d had the emotional energy or even time in one place to find someone outside the industry either.
“Tell me about it,” he murmured, sinking his hand more deeply into her curls, fisting them and then releasing them, then fisting again, as if savoring their texture.
The scent of roses reached her from his hand, mixed with the apples of her shampoo, and she closed her eyes against a wave of hunger. It didn’t help. Closing her eyes meant that all she could do was feel—his hand shifting in her hair, his breath brushing over her lips, the cool shade of the street after the sun of the fields, and the press of a knocker against her back. The silence of the stone seemed to hold her safe in it. A gentle echo sounded of someone walking down another cobblestone street below. She wanted him to talk again, into her darkness.
“Are you going to kiss me?” she whispered.
“Yes.” Just that one deep vibration of his voice through her, while his hand sank deep enough to cup her skull at last, cushioning it from the hard door as his mouth closed over hers.
Pleasure curled like a smile through her body, this sensual happiness that relaxed her lips to his. His mouth was just right. Not too hard, not too grabby. Not too soft, not hesitant. His fingers tightened gently against her skull as he fit himself to her, the silk slide of his lips taking hers, exploring hers. The heat of her own body overwhelmed her so fast, melting her everywhere just at a kiss. Her hands rose up to sink into his hair—oh, yes, those half curls were so silky, exactly like they looked, and her fingers slid through them and found purchase against his head, down over his neck and muscled shoulders, back up to that glossy hair. Every part of him was so enticingly touchable that her hands kept moving up and down, sinking into him, trying to get more of his textures, as their lips met and slid, as the kiss grew deeper and deeper.
She discovered she was climbing up him, pulling herself up and into his body, and finally fell back, breaking the kiss. “Oh, wow,” she whispered. Her heart beat so hard it almost scared her, and she ducked her body in against his chest to find refuge there, her head tucked down so they couldn’t start that bewilderingly overwhelming kissing again. “Oh, wow.” She pressed her cheek against his heart, which thundered against her ear. The gorgeous rhythm of a strong heart beating hard and deep just for her.
One arm still bracing against the door to hold his body off her, he wrapped the wounded arm around her and pulled her in close. His hunger for her pressed against her belly, and she bit her lip against the need to wiggle until it fit into a much better spot. “You’ll hurt your arm,” she managed.
His arm just tightened around her. “The cut’s on the outside of it, Bouclettes.” His voice had turned so rough. He squeezed her against him again, and again that pressure of his muscles, that compression of her body, swept arousal all through her. “Besides, a little bit of pain can sometimes help a man keep his head.”
What would help her keep her head?
“I’m scared,” she confessed into his chest. Oh, I love this thump of your heart.