Page 35 of Wrapped in Silver

Even with my coat between us, there’s literal heat warming us from the cold. “The hell are you saying, Silver?” I glance at his hand moving toward my chin, and jerk away angrily.

“I’ll take you to see him,” he says, and all of the anger within me melts into a sexual hearth settling in my thighs.

I side-eye him in disbelief.

“You will be quiet. You will behave. And only then will I know if what my gut tells me is true—that you can keep this underworld-altering secret.”

My heart races. He’s serious.

He really does have him…

His hand comes for my chin again, and this time… I don’t shy away. His steel green eyes are captivating. I’ve been dreaming about being this close to him again. The slight hint of aftershave, the crow’s feet crinkling the space around his eyes, the perfect jaw.

He’s aged wine. An old lion.

Not an ounce of insecurity to be found.

God… that’s what I’ve been missing. I want him…

His head dips, perfect lips on a crash course with mine.

When they finally touch, I swear the electricity between us makes my neck hair stand. Everything besides our kiss is a distant thought. My nails claw into the back of his suit, legs touching, and I’m a mess of emotion as his tongue curves intomy mouth. It’s long and dominant, and when his hands tear open my jacket—nearly ripping the zipper clean off—I gasp.

Just as his hands cradle my body, he stops himself and turns abruptly away.

“No,”I gasp loudly.

He’s breathing heavily too. His shoulders slowly bob as he rubs his temple. “We’re not doing this,” he growls.

I grasp his hand and slither into his nook, looking up at those eyes. They’ve lost their fierceness for the moment, and it makes me want him all the more.

He glances at my lips again. A cue… so slight, yet so powerful. This time I reach up to kiss him, doing my best to stoke the flame he’s trying to fan out. It’s soft and slow and perfect. He tastes so good.

And when I moan slightly into his mouth, I’ve done it again.

He pulls away.

“It’s not right,” he speaks vaguely.

“Nothing in this damn situation is‘right.’” I slap my arms to my sides, then run my hands over his perfect abs. I can feel them through his shirt.

He shakes his head. “I know nothing about you. You’re too young—”

Eyeing one of the stage wine bottles that definitely doesn’t belong here, I lunge for it. “White wine puts me to sleep.” I spin the bottle in my hand, some off-brand twist top Pinot Grigio that says “sample” on it. “There, now you know something about me.”

He swipes the bottle from my hand. “You say this magic potion will make you stop talking?”

My mouth hangs open in an astonished breathless laugh.

He purrs his own cackle.

“Open it,” I dare.

“It’s probably turned. These are used on set because they’re the perfect coloring for camera.” He twists the bottle in the light. “Not for taste. Or for wasting.”

“There’s plenty.”

“I said it’s probably turned.”

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