“Are we telling secrets now?”
“Either that or kissing. Your choice.”
I shook at the thought of divulging my secrets.
“Kissing.”
His gaze went to my lips and he leaned forward slowly.
He murmured, his voice low and barely audible, “I'm going to give you a dramatic on-screen kiss.”
I giggled in response, which normally would have made me cringe at my stupidity, but the way he was looking at me was so serious and sexy. I felt like my body was under water, with pleasant pressure pushing me together in all directions, but that at any moment, I might fly apart like so much stardust.
Dalton's expression got ultra-serious, and just like that, he turned into Drake Cheshire, the cultured vampire with a taste for big-lipped girls under one hundred pounds. He stared intensely at my eyes, my lips, my cle**age, my throat, my lips, and then up to my eyes again. I melted like a pat of butter on summer pavement.
He moved in closer, so our noses were an inch apart, and he repeated the intense look. Eyes. His, green like precious emeralds. Lips. Mine, slightly parted and trembling. Throat. Feeling very exposed. Cleavage. Mine, heaving, probably, guessing by the way I couldn't quite catch my breath.
His gaze slid back dreamily to my lips, and he tilted his head to the side, not yet touching his mouth to mine.
We held steady, the only movements our breathing and minor swaying with the motion of the vehicle. I could feel the heat from his skin against my lips. He tipped his head back and looked me in the eyes again.
Oh, the slow torture.
His hand moved from the outside of my thigh to the inside, to the hot crease where my thighs were touching. I gasped. No nylons. Bare flesh. His hand was only at the hem line of my bridesmaid dress, but the way he was looking at me, it felt much more intimate. He took one of my legs firmly in both hands and pushed it to bring space between my legs, and then his hand traveled up further.
He breathed against my lips and blinked slowly as his hand moved in, up under the peach-hued tulle skirt of my dress. His fingertips grazed the silky material of my underwear.
I arched my back as the sensation of his touch blazed through me. A tiny sigh escaped my parted lips.
He pulled his face back from mine and nodded up, as though beckoning me toward him.
With his fingers now gently pressing against my pulse point through my underwear, I found myself unable to move. I raised my eyebrows, calling him to me with my eyes.
The corner of his beautiful mouth twitched up in a grin. A pulse of adrenaline shot through me. That was the face Drake made before his fangs popped out and he bit a girl! I gasped again.
He moved quickly, and his mouth was on my neck, at my throbbing jugular vein.
I squealed in a mix of terror and delight as he pretended to bite me.
He let out a throaty growl, while at the same time he did something magical with his fingers between my legs. As he licked and kissed my neck, gently biting me, he kept exploring the elasticity of my underwear, until he had the silky material pushed aside and we were skin on skin, his fingertips on my freshly-waxed cushions of flesh.
I relaxed against the leather seat, my head back on the head rest, trying not to die from pleasure. Panties pushed aside, his strong fingertips gently stroked my clit. I moaned and whimpered for him to be less gentle, and he delivered a more vigorous nub massage. Oh, f**k yes. Just like that.
My breathing sped up, my pulse pounding as he brought me to the precipice of coming, and then eased off, pulling his hand back to rest between my thighs.
He nibbled on my earlobe, then murmured, “Let's get naked.”
“Sure,” I breathed as I set to work locating the buttons of his shirt. I wanted to just rip the shirt off, but it probably cost more than my rent, so I fumbled for buttons like a good girl.
CHAPTER 4
I'd gotten two buttons undone, which was a miracle considering the dimness of the light and the trembling of my hands, when Dalton said, “Maybe we shouldn’t get na**d in the car, though.”
“Oh.” I turned to look out the tinted window. There was my front porch, and my potted geraniums—red ones, in terra cotta pots, of course. The car wasn't moving. How long had we been parked there?
“Are you going to invite me in?”
I let out an embarrassing waterfall of giggles before I could dam up my mouth with both hands.
He gave me side-eye. “What?”
I whispered, “You asked me to invite you in. Just like Drake Cheshire does on the show.”
He looked down at our laps, then back up at me with the most innocent expression, his green eyes almost sad. “Let's just be regular people tonight.”
“Regular people. Sure.” Now I felt bad for making him feel weird. But I was still turned on, my pink petunia pulsing with anticipation for nakedness, so apparently I didn’t feel that bad!
I reached for the door handle, pushed it open to the cool night air, and climbed out of the car as gracefully as I could manage.
It was past midnight, but a few people were still out in the neighborhood, walking their dogs, and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment as people stared our way. Of course they were just looking at the unusual car, but the paranoid part of me was certain they'd seen in through the tinted glass and knew exactly what was going on. Someone had just had his hand in my cookie jar, and I LIKED IT A GREAT DEAL, THANK YOU.
Dalton stepped out behind me, looking left and right as he did. Something at the edge of my vision moved, and my senses buzzed that someone was watching us surreptitiously.
“Home sweet home,” I said, gesturing to the old house with my chin. “It's not much to look at, but it's cheap.”
When Shayla and I had moved into the old Craftsman-style home, we’d cooed over its generous porch and lovely wood columns. The house wore a dilapidated coat of peeling mint green paint, with darker, forest green trim. We’d had big plans to give the place a good scraping and re-paint it if the landlord covered the cost of materials, but we didn’t get further than a fresh coat of glossy, mustard yellow paint on the front door and one horrible hour of scraping a section at the back of the house. Painting something as big as a house seems like so much fun when you see it in a movie montage, but the reality is, there’s a reason even lovely old homes have peeling paint. That shit is hard work.
“Cute house,” he said.
“It’s cheap.”
“I’m sure it is, but it’s still cute. Take a compliment, will you?”
Nodding, I fumbled around for my keys in my purse.
Dalton darted at me quickly and caught me in his arms, whispering, “There's a photographer behind that tree.”