I shivered, my hand grasping the front of his shirt. Ah, yes, the attraction was there, hot and palpable.
His kiss deepened, becoming insistent. The man knew what he was doing.
I fisted the fabric between my fingers and pulled him closer, my traitorous, starving body growing desperate for more contact.
The press and brush of his tongue against mine coaxed a small sigh out of me. Or a moan. I wasn’t sure.
There was more squeaking of the leather underneath our clothes as he wrapped his arms around me, drawing me against his chest. I allowed myself to touch him the way I’d been wanting for a long time, resting my palms on his pecs and grazing the tips of my fingers over his smooth, inked skin.
When we came up for a breath, he met my gaze and said, “See, that wasn’t so bad.” A smirk colored his expression.
I laughed. He was both goofy and ludicrous and I didn’t know which part of him appealed to me more.
“This is insane,” I murmured, still trying to gather my wits.
“What is?” He arched a brow. “The fact that I’m a great kisser or the fact that you’ve been holding out for over two months?”
“I’m not responding to that.”
“Because you’re embarrassed that you're a horrible judge of character?”
“I’m not,” I retorted.
Dante tightened his embrace, his palm flat against my back. “Oh, yes, you are, mama. You stereotyped me and profiled me using unverified information from a variety of online gossip sites, which led to you missing an opportunity to find out how good of a lay I may be much, much sooner.” He grinned then, a charming sinner smile that set off a flame around my core.
I melted into him, despite my better judgment, my chin borrowing into the crook of his neck. He smelled like vintage wood. Like music. Like forbidden thoughts and dirty, exhausting nights.
“Will you be fantasizing about me tonight?” he asked, voice low and raspy. His hand traveled to my head, his long fingers sinking into my hair, playing with it.
“Possibly.” I blushed at that. I had fantasized about him more than once, but that would remain a secret. He didn’t need to know he’d been right all along.
My pride was already shattered.
“I’ll let you go now,” he whispered and pressed his mouth to mine. This time, the kiss lasted only a few seconds, which didn’t make it any less sexy or exciting. “I have to stay in the car. Nolan will walk you to the door.”
A bitter dose of reality slammed into me. Things had already begun to unravel for him with the lawsuit. “Okay. Good night.”
“Good night.”
The driver dutifully escorted me to my small porch and waited until I went inside and locked up. Moments later, I heard the car driving away.
“He kissed you.” Ally’s voice came from the hallway, scaring me.
There was just one lamp on, casting a bit of light over the living room. The rest of the house was dark, and I was under the impression my daughter had gone to bed, but apparently, she was lurking in the shadows, waiting for me.
“I’m tired, Bug.” I unceremoniously kicked off my shoes and tossed my purse on the couch, not sure how to answer her question.
“So are you not going to talk at all about the fact that you and he are an item?” Ally crossed her arms on her chest. She stood at the head of the corridor, hip popped, expression sour, pajamas already on.
“I don’t think it’s such a good idea for me to discuss my romantic endeavors with my fifteen-year-old daughter.”
“Why not, Mom?”
Exactly. Why not, Camille? Trish’s parents let her date a nineteen-year-old. Don’t be that mother.
“Because it’s late.”
“So can I date now?”