Page 64 of Midnight Valentine
17
I collide with Theo, and my breath leaves my chest in an audible grunt. I drop my handbag and stumble back, teetering in my heels. He grabs me by the arms before I can fall and pulls me against his body.
His big, hard, warm body.
Breathless, I stare up at him, overwhelmed by the sheer physical pleasure of being so close. Every detail of him leaps out at me, burning a sensation into my brain: his face, his scent, the pulse pounding hard in his neck. His strong hands gripped around my biceps. The throbbing of his heart against my breasts.
A shaky exhalation passes my lips, but otherwise, I’m incapable of speech.
Every slumbering cell in my body has woken up and started screaming.
He drags in a breath, nostrils flaring. I can’t tell if he’s furious, shocked, or aroused, because no man has ever looked at me with this particular expression.
Then he carefully sets me away from him and steps back.
He’s wearing his usual faded jeans, boots, and leather jacket. His black hair is its normal windblown mess. He’s got a three-day growth of beard on his jaw, a glower darker than midnight on his face, and the wild intensity of a thousand suns blazing in his eyes.
He’s so beautiful, I have to put my hand against the wall for balance.
He rakes his gaze over me, head to foot. It might as well be his hands for the effect it has. I start to shake. My mouth goes dry. My skin comes alive with electricity. I wouldn’t be surprised if my hair stood on end in a corona around my head.
I finally gather enough of my wits to speak. “What’re you doing here?”
Without looking away from me, he jerks his head toward the bar.
He can’t have known I was coming here with Craig. I didn’t even know where Craig was taking me. So unless he followed us here, running into him like this is another damn coincidence.
Theo jerks his chin at me, like What about you?
“I’m having dinner with Craig Kennedy.”
The curl of his upper lip is subtle but unmistakable. It has the unexpected effect of pissing me off.
I shove away from the wall and grab my purse from the floor. When I straighten, I blast Theo with a glare. “Oh, the guy who faked being sick to avoid me doesn’t like that I’m on a date? That’s classic. You were right, Theo. You are fucked up.”
I try to brush past him and go back to the table, but before I can take three steps, he grabs me by the arms and spins me around. He pushes me against the wall in the small corridor where the restrooms are set apart from the restaurant, so we’re blocked from view by a duo of large potted palms.
The length of his torso presses against mine, crotch to chest. He holds me there against the wall and stares down at me. When he drops his gaze to my mouth, a tremor runs through his chest. He exhales a low noise, like a groan, only softer.
My heart thuds so fast, I feel faint. If a person could spontaneously combust, I would.
I whisper his name. He winces, as if hearing the word leave my lips is painful. With an expression like he would stop himself if only he could, he drops his head to my neck and inhales deeply against my throat.
On instinct—like a cat when it’s stroked down its back—I arch into him, purring.
He exhales in a soft gust. His warm breath fans down my neck. A delicate shudder runs through his entire body. The faintest brush of his lips against my skin leaves me gasping.
I.
Am.
On.
Fire.
He raises his head and stares down into my eyes. I see yearning and anguish and that bottomless darkness in his eyes, and something in my chest feels like it’s melting.
“Why do I hurt you?” I whisper urgently, searching his eyes. “Why do I feel like I know you? Why are you everywhere, even though all you want to do is avoid me?”
