Page 38 of Deception & Desire

Her words are like a master key, making quick work of all the emotions I’ve had restrained in the back of my mind. “What?”

“I got the notification on the ride over and?—”

I’m like a moth to a flame. Her eyes go wide with something indiscernible as I make my approach.

My hands instantly reach for her face to hold her there, and finally, there’s the touch I’ve been craving. It’s an overindulgence to examine her like this, checking her head, her jaw, her neck, hands skimming over skin just to make sure.

“I’m not tarnished goods.” She breaks me from my spell with the harshness of her words. “Do you really need to inspect me like this?”

My movements immediately freeze up. “I’m not?—"

“Can we just get this over with? It’s been a long night.”

She’s not looking at me. I need her to look at me.

“Yes, it has.” The words come out more tenderly than I intended, but it works. Those huge green eyes look up at me, and I watch as her mouth drops into a slight “O”.

I could get lost in those eyes and just hold her close until morning breaks us apart. I’d be satisfied with only that.

But her eyes lower to my lips and suddenly, the possibility ofmoresets everything within me alight.

I could have her right here on the kitchen floor, pushed up against the door frame, over the counter like I’d imagined only a few days ago. I could. It would be…hard to justify, with comfortable beds right upstairs. But Icoulddo it.

“What are you?—”

But Ican’texplain,so instead, I sweep up her legs and pick her up, bridal style. The irony isn’t lost on me, just buried under the overwhelming sensation of her body pressed firmly against mine.

“Put me down!” she half stutters the words.

“You must be tired.” The excuse sounds feeble as I move us toward the stairs, up toward my bedroom.

“I don’t need you to manhandle me.”

“Don’t you?”

I can feel her tense in my arms. “I can walk.”

“I can carry you.”

She protests some more, but I ignore every word until my bedroom door slams shut behind us.

I set her down somewhat gingerly. I assume that’s what the irritated frown on her face is for. But the expression does nothing to mar her loveliness. That fucking dress she’s wearing might be the death of me.

She stands there, defiant, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, waiting for me.Are we doing this then?she seems to ask without the words leaving her mouth.

In response, I remove my cufflinks. It’s a formal gesture that I follow with the unbuttoning of my shirt.

I don’t miss the way her eyes rake over my bare chest as soon as it’s revealed to her. I let the smugness into my smirk as I take a step toward her.

“This…off. Take this off,” I demand as I circle around her, lifting the strap of her dress for a moment with my fingers. There are no bruises or marks on the backs of her arms or shoulders.

She does so carefully, letting the dress pool at her feet. She’s remarkably confident, almost pragmatic.

There’s nothing beneath the dress but the garter she flashed at me earlier.

“What the fuck,” I hiss, hands already reaching out to trail down her sides. I rake over every inch of my skin. No bruises, no marks. She’s fine. She’s fine. She’s fine.

She swallows. “The dress was tight. You could see the panty lines through the fabric.”

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