Page 28 of Sinful Beauty

I set the stew on a wooden pot holder. The heat from the handles is almost too much, but I’m too distracted to find my potholders.

My skin tingles and my muscles tense. Tristan’s eyes glaze over as they lock on me.

“Do you want wine?” It’s a simple question, but yet it feels loaded and sultry.

“No.” He says the word slowly, and my breath catches.

He stands, and beneath these low ceilings, he fills the space with his height and magnetism. The man sucks up both space and oxygen.

“I think this needs to cool. I may have overheated it. The microwave is older, and it’s easy?—”

“Lucia.” My name rolls off his tongue and my nipples harden. He prowls toward me. There’s no other word that fits. He’s a lion. And I’m prey.

My back hits the refrigerator.

He steps forward.

I swallow.

This is a man who gets everything he wants. And in this moment, he wants me.

Without my heels, the top of my head reaches his collar bone.

He cups my jaw, angling my head upwards. His touch caresses my skin, sending sensations coursing down my neck, to my breasts, and spiraling through my core.

“Do you want water?” The question comes out breathy.

His lips curl into a wanton smile.

“Do I look like I want water?”

He’s so close, and my hand rises of its own volition, pressing over his chest. The faint beating of his heart pulses through my palm.

“I want to kiss you.”

In the office and in the bar, his eyes had seemed dark. But here, inches from me, they’re stormy. Not blue, not brown, but gray. It’s the intention that captures me.

I tilt my chin and lift my heels, rising to meet him, offering my lips.

A nagging voice tells me this isn’t smart, but I push it away with the argument that no one needs to know.

His lips press to mine, and he palms the back of my head. The pressure positions me where he wants me and requests more.

Obediently, I open for him. His hard body presses against mine, fanning embers of desire into a roaring flame.

Our kiss evolves from light to deep in a flash. Demanding. Need-provoking. The ridge of his erection melds against my hip. He cups my ass and maneuvers me over his ridge. My hands roam his back, and my fingers find the nape of his neck and comb through his hair.

He groans as the lights flicker and a semblance of cognizant thought wakes.

I push back, replacing his lips with the tips of my fingers, my breath coming in fast spurts.

The office.

“I shouldn’t.”

Those dark eyes narrow and his eyebrows nearly join. “Why?”

“Work. It’s not…”

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