Page 68 of Hold Me Today

The corner of her mouth tugs upward in a half-smile. “Anyone ever tell you that you like to have the last word?”

Only every other day. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re gorgeous in a beanie hat?” Her hand flies off the dashboard to palm the side of her head, and, because I’m enjoying the hell out of having the last word—and seeing the flush creep over her olive-toned cheeks—I add, “And I’m all for the no makeup for purely selfish reasons.”

She visibly swallows. Meets my gaze head-on when she demands, “And those selfish reasons are?”

I don’t even bother to smother my grin. Demanding or not, there’s no missing the way her voice quivered when she spoke. Call me an ass, but Ilikethat she’s nervous around me. It’s only fair, since she shakes me up like no other woman ever has. Mina might be all big talk, but she’s not nearly as unaffected by my presence as she wants me to believe.

Check mate.

I lean in, redistributing my weight in the seat so that I’m half-leaning over the center console. I get as close as I can, given where we are, and press a soft, teasing kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I wanted to know the true color of your lips after all these years.”

Her breath audibly catches. “And?” she whispers.

Another kiss, this one to the other corner of her mouth. What can I say? I’m an equal opportunist—can’t leave one side hanging and risk it feeling jealous. “And what?”

“Are they”—she swallows again, and then her fingers grow bold as they gently rake through my hair—“satisfactory?”

In every single way.

I give her the only answer that matters: my lips on hers.

God, she tastes amazing. Like sunshine in the middle of winter and vanilla and something so sweet and uniquelyher. Her taste consumes me—and as balls-freezing cold as it is outside this car, there’s nothing but combustible heat between us. It flames the fire and it arouses, and I graze my lips over hers, refusing to deepen the pressure. Not yet. Not until she’s begging and needy and demanding more. With iron-clad will, I keep the pace slow, teasing, seductive. A brush of my lips over hers, a sensuous glide of my tongue at the seam of her lips before I retreat and relish the way she whimpers at the loss. And then I do it all over again, torturing us both.

My name falls from her mouth like a four-letter curse.

I hold my ground, kissing her, antagonizing her with a more thorough sweep of my tongue and my fingers pinching her chin, keeping her exactly where I want her. She squirms impatiently in her seat. Almost desperately, her gloved fingers follow the curve of my skull, sliding down to the nape of my neck. “More,” comes her throaty demand, right before she yanks me closer. Her full lips nip at mine in a fight for dominance.

Gentleman that I am, I let her have it.

Right before I throw gasoline into the flames and slide my hand against that bare strip of skin. Cold against hot, she shivers at my touch and gasps into my mouth.So damn responsive.I shouldn’t be surprised, not the way she’s always baited me for a reaction. The nice-guy thing to do would be to keep my hand in neutral territory at the dip of her waist. It’s what she expects, and I’m not above proving her wrong.

I gloss my knuckles up and over her ribs, never missing the way her breathing changes, hastens, as if she’s a puppet strung to my every jerk of the master’s string. I leave goose bumps in my wake, until the pad of my middle finger is dead center on her chest.

Meeting her gaze, I search for that bout of restlessness. It’s still there, lingering in the furrow of her brows but overshadowed by the same lust that’s making my pulse race. Pouty lips purse, then fall open on a harshly drawn breath. Heavy-lidded eyes stare back at me, not a hint of hesitation in their depths. The two of us, we’ve torn through every fenced boundary that may have existed. One hot, illicit kiss. One desperate, forbidden touch. And then all good reason came crumbling down.

I skim my finger up, tracing the cup of her bra. Thin lace, no padding. I bet if I were to look, the material would be transparent enough to show me the exact hue of her nipple.Not that you’ve forgotten. A dark, rosy brown imprinted in my memory from a sunny day in Greece when the waves stole her bikini top. It’d been a good, good day, but not as good as this one. Boldly, I trace the gentle swell of her breast.

“You won’t,” she whispers in a hushed dare.

I do.

I cup her breast, nothing but a scrap of fabric between us.

She moans against my lips.

And, fuck, thatsound.

It’s dirty and feminine and absolutely the fuel of fantasies.Myfantasies, of mornings spent in bed, her body tucked under mine as I fit myself between her legs. Beneath my palm, it’s like I predicted: a hard nipple that the thin material of her bra can’t disguise. A groan reverberates in my chest, and when Mina shucks off her gloves and fists my hair, it’s all I can do not to crank this hookup session up to a thousand and undo the button of her jeans.

This is a bad idea.

Maybe, probably, but it feels too damn good to stop.

I pluck at her nipple, then slip my hand over her back, right over her spine. And then I urge her even closer, until our chests are flush together and she’s gripping my coat lapels and dropping her head back, exposing the slender column of her neck.

She’s temptation like I’ve never known.

And in that moment, there’s only one truth: this woman who I’ve known my entire life is going to be my ruin.

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