Page 74 of Sinister Intentions

I swallowed.

He stared at me, then nodded once as if he’d come to a decision. “I hated the thought of killing you almost as much as I hate seeing you with my brothers.”

My pulse skyrocketed, but I cocked a brow, aiming for nonchalance even as my pulse raced. “So what you’re doing right now is what? Masochism on your part?”

“It’s self-preservation.” His gaze turned molten, heating me up from the inside out.

Unable to resist the gravitational pull, I found myself leaning toward him, drawn like a moth to a flame.

His eyes flickered to my lips before they moved back up.

“You want to kiss me,” I said, the words a whispered, daring accusation.

“You’re going to be my sister-in-law.” His tone was harsh, but his eyes smoldered with naked hunger. “And you’re way too young for me.”

I let out a low, throaty laugh. “Well, you might want to tell that to your body, old man.” To emphasize my point, I rolled my hips ever-so-slightly, feeling him twitch beneath me.

He narrowed those piercing eyes. “You’re a brat, aren’t you?”

I grinned, unrepentant. “I’m just pointing out facts. That doesn’t make me a brat.”

He raised an eyebrow, then nodded. “The truth isn’t always so black and white, though. And facts aren’t always what they seem to be either.”

I stared at him. Was he talking about me? Or our situation? Or himself?

His jaw worked, but he said nothing as I pushed myself up on my elbows for the umpteenth time, putting some much-needed space between us. My eyes fell on his gorgeous lips.

His hands gripping my waist tightened.

“If we’re done here, how about taking your hands off me so I can get up and we can clean up your nose?” I whispered, my voice suddenly hoarse. I looked up, then down at his jumping Adam’s apple.

God, he was fucking gorgeous—even more so from close up.

I leaned down, then stopped myself at the last moment from pressing my lips against the vein on the side of his throat. What the hell?

I snapped my eyes to his. Could see the same desire washing through me mirrored in his.

Instead of releasing me, he slowly slid his hands from my hips to up my back and to my neck, cradling the base of my skull, then he continued slowly upward and molded his mouth over mine in a searing kiss, his lips dry and satiny against mine.

I saw him coming as if he was suddenly moving in slo-mo, knew about his intentions, knew what was next, and yet, I didn’t turn my head, didn’t suppress the gasp and the parting of my lips, didn’t close my eyes either.

As if that was enough invitation, he seized the opportunity, dove in, and deepened the kiss with a fiery intensity that stole my breath.

He played with my tongue, poked, then pulled back, invited me to play while he watched for my reaction and held my gaze—which was the sexiest thing ever.

I clutched his dress shirt over his chest as pleasure zinged along my nerves, sharp and dizzying.

This was Vince Salvini kissing me.

And it wasn’t some chaste peck—this was raw, primal need, undisguised and unrestrained.

And I was actually totally here for it.

I let go of the tension in my body, sunk heavy against him, let my eyes fall closed, and welcomed his tongue with long, languid strokes of my own.

Finally.

The sigh that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside of me surprised us both, and just as abruptly as the kiss started, it ended with him breaking away, staring at me for a moment, then pushing me to the side and climbing to his feet in one sinuous movement.

---