“No, I mean … that’s not why I did it. Okay, maybe in a small way her advice was lodged in my brain, but that wasn’t really what happened. We were on a mission, and we were supposed to have already been left. Some gang members arrived and I was trying to make them believe we were…” A prostitute and a John didn’t sound good, so she said, “That we were just part of the crowd.”
He looked out the window and stared at the trees for a minute. The trees swayed in the wind, and Della realized that like the trees, things between her and Steve could go either way. She knew which way she wanted them to go, but for the life of her she couldn’t say it was the right way.
Because if she’d been a bad “almost” girlfriend, would she do any better trying to be the real thing?
“Did it work?” he asked.
“Yeah, they didn’t know who we were.”
He looked back at her. “I mean Miranda’s plan?”
She hated admitting it, but … “As crazy as it is, it might have.”
He inhaled. “Did you like kissing him?”
Too much. She almost lied, but then … “Probably no more than you enjoyed kissing Jessie.” And she knew he’d enjoyed it because he’d looked so guilty the day she’d called him on it.
He stared out the window again. “You could have lied on that one.”
“I’m becoming a big advocate of the truth, lately.” Especially after learning how many people had lied to her. Her ex-boyfriend. Her parents—they’d never told her about her uncle and aunt. Chase—what was his connection to Chan?
And yet, as angry as those lies made her, she continued to lie, didn’t she? She wasn’t telling her parents she was vampire—for good reasons, but it was still a lie. And she hadn’t told Burnett about her uncle and aunt, and she didn’t think she would. But right now, at least with Steve, she wanted to be honest.
“I’m sorry I kissed him. There was danger involved and everything was intense, but it was … It wasn’t you. And afterwards,” Della continued, “I wished it was you.” Besides, Chase was gone now.
“That’s exactly how I feel,” he said. They sat in the front seat of the car, just staring at each other. “So what does this mean?” he asked.
“I know what I want it to mean. I want there to be an us, but I’m still scared.”
“Then we just take it slow.”
She looked at him and her heart felt half filled with promise and half filled with fear. “Wasn’t that what we were doing and it didn’t work out?”
“Then we don’t take it that slow. We let it move faster,” he said it with caution and with hope.
She bit down on her lip. “I didn’t even know your birthday. I don’t know how good I’ll be at … being an us.” She waved a hand between them. “You probably deserve better.”
“It doesn’t get better than you.” The gold and green flecks in his eyes flickered as he smiled. He leaned in and, fitting his hand behind her head, pulled her closer. “You’re beautiful, and funny. And smart.” His words came against her mouth. His lips finally brushed hers. “Did I say beautiful? I love you wearing my shirt.” Their mouths met. His palm slipped to her neck, and emotion radiated from his touch. He shifted closer to the center console, trying to get close to her.
She did the same.
Their tongues met and the kiss went from romantic to something more. Her heart raced, her skin felt supersensitive. All she could think about was getting closer.
She wanted to rip out the console between them; instead, she climbed over the dang thing. But when her ass hit the steering wheel the horn blew.
They both laughed, and dipped down in case anyone looked. Steve reached below and reclined his seat several inches, making room for her in his lap. Not really fitting, she tried to readjust. He scooted up, and she slipped legs around his waist. The position was tight, but ultra sexy. Della’s heart raced and she could feel Steve’s follow suit.
She pulled back just an inch, looking at his wet mouth. “You do know it’s the middle of the day and someone could be watching.”
“So?” He pulled her back against him. His hands slipped under her shirt. His palms fit around her waist, so warm, so right. Slowly, his touch traveled up from her waist to her edge of her br**sts. She wanted his hands there. She wanted his hands everywhere.
Steve ended the kiss way before she wanted him to. His breath came hard and fast, and his eyes glittered with the same thing she felt, desire. Need. Longing.
His eyes told one story, but his facial expression told another.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Chapter Thirty-five
“You’re hot, Della,” Steve said.
“So are you,” she answered.
“No!” He pulled his hand out of her shirt and passed it over his face. “Not hot.” He shook his head. “You are sexier than hell, but what I mean is that you still have a fever. What’s going on?”
“Oh. I … I’m sure it’s not a big deal.” She told him what she’d been telling herself for the last few weeks. “I don’t think I have a fever, I’m just not as cold.” And not wanting to think about being sick, she knew what would distract her. She tried to kiss him again.
He put his hand between her mouth and his. “It could be a big deal. And if you aren’t as cold, then it means you have a fever. Now get back in your seat.”
“Why?”
“I’m driving you back to the office so Dr. Whitman can check you out.”
“No.” Della rested her forehead against his.
“Why the hell not?” He leaned his head back and studied her face.
“Because … I’m fine. And I don’t want to worry Burnett and Holiday right now. If I’m not back to normal in a few days I’ll come in. Okay? Or better yet, I’ll have Kylie do some of her healing-hands stuff on me.”
His expression filled with disappointment. “Healers can’t cure everything.” He studied her. “What are your symptoms?”
I don’t have a rash. Wasn’t that what was important? “Steve, I’m fine. And for your information, Kylie cured her friend’s cancer. I’m sure she can take care of a little virus.” She felt better saying that, too. But if she told Steve she suspected she had the same thing as Chan, he’d freak. A freaking Steve she couldn’t handle.