Page 33 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love
“The usual bumper sticker wisdom,” she deflected.
Donatello’s dark eyes fixed on her.“Read it.”
It wasn’t a request.More an order.The command in his voice flicked a switch—from banter to butterflies.
Andromeda held his gaze, ready to turn his demand into a challenge.
“If you’re thinking about it,” she read, “they are too.”
She watched his face as comprehension dawned, followed by a half-choked cough.For the millionth time that evening, he zeroed in on her mouth with such naked hunger that Andromeda wondered if he really saw her as dessert.
He shifted in his seat, but the heat didn’t disappear from his eyes.
“What are you thinking about, Swan?Anything interesting?”he teased.
Andromeda wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it together.It was already a miracle she hadn’t dissolved into a puddle beneath the table when they’d been discussing “dessert” earlier.Something about this man turned her quick-witted brain to mush.
“What about yours?”she deflected.
Donatello broke his cookie open with one hand—more crushed it.He unfolded the small paper and read it, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“Control is an illusion.”
Was his voice specifically designed to melt her underwear?
“Do you lose control often, detective?”The question slipped out.
The look he gave didn’t belong in polite company.“No.”Donatello dropped a few twenties inside the leather bill folder and stood up, leaning down until his face was level with hers.“But keep pouting that way,” he murmured, “and find out.”
He straightened to his full height, replacing the beanie on his head to hide the lilac strands.“Come on, Swan.I’m taking you home.”
She rose on unsteady legs, wondering if everyone in the room could see how affected she was by him.
The ride back was silent, but it was far from peaceful.Every traffic light they stopped at became a test of restraint.Every casual shift of Donatello’s hand on the gearshift drew her gaze like a magnet.The atmosphere was charged, stormy.
Andromeda stared out the window, at the streets lined with trees dropping their brown leaves, the storefronts decorated with witch motifs that tourists labeled quaint but actual witches found hilarious in their inaccuracy.She tried to focus on anything but the man beside her.
When they finally reached her house, Donatello didn’t stay in the car as she’d expected.Instead, he killed the engine and got out, circling around to get the door for her.The gesture was so old-fashioned, especially coming from a man who’d blown off her front door without even knocking a few days ago.
He didn’t stop there.Donatello walked her to the doorstep, his presence behind her larger than his six-however-many-inches height.The night air was cool—but not cool enough; Andromeda was still boiling.She stopped at her door and turned, summoning every ounce of bravado she possessed.“Will you also tuck me in bed or are you going to shoo?”She made a scram-now gesture with her hands as if he were an overgrown cat rather than the wizard who’d been starring in her inappropriate fantasies all evening.
Donatello leaned against the porch railing, watching her with those impossibly dark eyes.
“Oh, I’d love totuck you in, Swan.”He soundedsosmooth, soft as velvet, and filthier than an arrogant duke in a bodice ripper.
If she’d been wearing a corset, it would’ve unlatched itself as his gaze made a slow, deliberate journey down her body and back up again.
“For a criminal, you make a hell of a dinner date.”
Her heart stuttered at the word date, but Andromeda recovered quickly, smirking to hide the effect he had on her.“Good thing tonight wasn’t a date, then.”
Donatello detached himself from the railing with the fluid grace of a panther.“Could’ve fooled me.”His voice was a low scrape that carved into her bones.“You even moaned for me.”
“I didn’t moan foryou,” Andromeda shot back, heat flaring in her cheeks at the memory of how embarrassingly vocal she’d been about the dumplings.“It was for the food.Totally different phenomenon.”She lifted her chin.“I doubt you could make me moan, detective.”
The moment the words left her mouth, she knew they were a tactical error.Donatello’s eyes darkened, and he closed the distance between them with two long strides until he stood right in front of her.His hands settled on her hips, warm and firm, claiming more than just space.
“Want to test that theory?”he asked, his thumbs drawing small circles on the fabric of her jeans.
