Page 28 of Fierce

“What, like you’d forgotten?” I treated myself to another delectable bite of salmon. “Why do men take that as such an irresistible challenge? Why should it matter?”

“You don’t understand why it matters,” he said slowly.

“Let me put it this way. Every reason I can think of is pretty reprehensible.”

“Oh, no doubt. No doubt at all.” His voice was silky-soft. “But then, I may have mentioned that I’m a pretty reprehensible fella. And, yeh. For the record? I love that idea.”

“Whoops,” I muttered. “Butterfly time.” I had to force myself to keep working on my lunch, even though all I wanted was to keep looking at him. At his muscular forearms, and the start of that tattoo. At the thighs that stretched the fabric of his trousers. At the chest and shoulders and face and…never mind.

“Pardon?” He looked startled.

“I keep doing these dumb animal metaphors,” I tried to explain. “About you.”

“Oh, bugger. I’m a butterfly.” He shook his head and took another bite of sandwich, and, all right, I may have giggled.

“Of course you aren’t a butterfly.” And, to my horror, I’d reached out and swatted him on the arm as if he’d been Nathan.

“Sorry.” I tried to scoot back, but he put a hand out and caught mine. And then he turned it and…kissed it.

He kissed my knuckles, and, all right, I melted. I mean, wouldn’t you, if you’d been sitting beside a pool with Hemi Te Mana, looking into his liquid brown eyes and watching him kiss your hand? And then having him turn it over to caress your palm with one big thumb? Because he did that, too, and who would’ve guessed that a palm could be so sensitive? When he put his lips to it, and my fingers may have stroked his bronzed cheek just a bit while he did…Let’s call it a weak moment and leave it at that.

I was pulling my hand away, scooting back, and he was sighing.

“Don’t run,” he said. “Please. I’m stopping. But get me back on track here. Tell me why I’m a butterfly. Make me laugh.”

I cleared my throat. “I’m not sure I’m going to make you laugh. I think this might fall into the ‘stupid’ category. For me to say, I mean.”

“Brilliant. I’m not a butterfly after all, eh. Go.”

“Umm...I might be the…butterfly. And you might be a…spider.”

“Ah.” His eyes had kindled, and I could tell that he was holding himself back, and that it was an effort. “Got you in my web, do I? You struggling a bit?”

I couldn’t speak, because he’d reached a hand out as if he couldn’t help himself any more than I could, and was running the backs of his fingers down my jawline. So slowly, and so gently. And then his thumb was tracing my lips, first the upper, then the lower, and, as they parted, running over the sensitive flesh inside. Moving a bit farther, and, yes, he had his thumb in my mouth up to the first knuckle, and my lips…well, they may have closed over that thumb.

“Yeh,” he said, his voice pure molten chocolate. “Yeh. You’re struggling, but it’s such a delicious struggle, isn’t it? You’re thinking how sweet that sting’s going to feel. You’re scared of it, and you’re waiting for it, and your heart’s beating so hard.”

Oh, boy. Oh, boy. “See,” I managed to say once I’d managed to turn my head, and he’d removed his hand. “Definitely in the ‘stupid’ category.”

“Does it help,” he said, his eyes, every bit of his attention so focused on me, “if I tell you that I thought about you all night? That I spent too much time choosing your flowers, and too much energy hoping you’d take them? That I planned what I’d say here today, and that I haven’t managed to say any of it?”

“It helps,” I said a little shakily. “Maybe it’d help more if you told me some of those things.”

“Right.” He ran a hand over the back of his head, looked down at the sandwich in his other hand as if he’d forgotten it was there, then looked back at me. “Please. Eat your lunch. If you don’t, if I’ve made you miss two meals—well, still got some room for guilt in me after all, haven’t I.”

“Oh?” I took another bite to please him, but it wasn’t easy. “To be fair, I think I started this one.”

“Yeh.” His eyes were so warm, his sudden smile so sweet. “I’d say you did. And some temptations are just too much to bear.”

It was close enough to my own thoughts to have me shifting uncomfortably. “Planned speech,” I reminded him. “Because my lunch hour’s about up, you know?”

“Yeh. Well—I was thinking. You’ve got a sister, eh. Fifteen, you said.”

“Yes.” My sister? Where was this going?

“And you live in Brooklyn. And, yeh,” he said before I could say anything. “I looked it up. I’m not going to lie to you, and I’m not going to manipulate you. Not any more than I can help. Whatever we do—whatever we do—is going to be because you want it, too.”

“And that helps more,” I managed to say. Whatever we do? What did that mean?

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