Edge Of Darkness

39

Through his shirt she felt his heartbeat against her cheek, and she closed her eyes, hearing it throb and pulse, loving the sound of it.

Feeling as if her heart might strangle her, she said into his shirt, “I can’t believe you didn’t end that speech with a kiss.”

She felt his chuckle against her cheek too. It reverberated through his chest, pitched deep and low like a bass drum. He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to his.

“There will be kisses, little firecracker, many, many kisses—but you’re going to have to ask for the first one.”

In response to her look of mortification, he added, “Nicely.”

“You want me to ask you to kiss me,” she said flatly.

He nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “It’ll be easy, it’s just three words. ‘Please kiss me.’ How hard is that?”

“How about, ‘please tell me you’re joking,’ instead?”

His grin grew dangerous. “I never joke about kissing, Ember.” He released her chin, reached out, and lightly touched her bare leg just above her ankle. She sucked in a startled breath and froze, ridiculously grateful she’d decided to shave her legs after all.

He said, “There are several things, in fact, that I never joke about, and all of them have to do with pleasuring a woman.”

Holding her gaze, he slid his fingers slowly up her leg, and Ember felt it like a trail of fire on her skin. She was sure if she looked there would be burn marks. A little involuntary shiver went through her.

“Ask me,” he whispered, stroking her leg. “Three little words and I’ll make you shiver a lot more than that.” “Remember before, when I was telling you what an egotistical something-or-other you are?” She whispered it back to him, her fingers wrapped around the lapels of his suit, her back stiff, their eyes locked together. He nodded, his fingers slowly moving past her kneecap, up her thigh. As his hand spread open over her skin, her voice grew even fainter. “I was right about the egotistical part.”

He lowered his head, just far enough so his lips hovered above hers. Against her mouth, he whispered, “Ask me,” so that his words brushed her lips, feather-light and fleeting.

Instead of speaking her ‘no’ aloud, she shook her head back and forth, skimming her lips against his in the touching-but-not-touching way he had done, slow and careful. He made a low, masculine sound in his throat. His hand tightened on her leg and the electricity running between them felt alive, magnetic and hair-raising, a wild animal about to be unleashed.

Then the car slid to a stop and Corbin announced, “We’re here, sir.”

Ember stifled a groan. “He has the most unbelievable timing.”

Christian closed his eyes. “Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “He certainly does.”

He inhaled, gave her thigh a squeeze, and released her, setting her back to her side of the seat. She made sure her dress was safely back over her knees and tried not to think about the hardness of his body, his lips and scent and gaze, how it felt to have his arms wrapped around her. Because if she focused on any one of those things, she didn’t think they’d make it through dinner.

She thought she’d tell him to take her home to bed, right now.

And she needed more time to figure this out—it was all happening much too fast. She wasn’t that girl, the one who had s*x on the first date or threw herself at men, hoping for attention. No matter how gorgeous, rich, and swoon-inducing they were.

Christian helped her from the car and kept her hand clasped tightly in his as they entered the restaurant and were led to their table. As her brain began to come back online and her thought processes cleared, Ember was struck by something she’d missed in the emotion of the moment with Christian’s arms wrapped around her, his fierce intensity muddling her mind. It was something he’d said, something that seemed more and more ominous with every replay.

I’m not even sure how much longer I’m going to be around.

It made her wonder again about the life or death reason he’d been late for their date. And why he thought spending time together wasn’t in either of their best interests.

What exactly was he hiding?

The dinner was extravagant, and quiet.

There was caviar and oysters, silky foie gras and filet mignon, a Bordeaux—which she politely declined—so dark and decadent it looked more like dessert. The menu was French, as was the waiter with the aquiline nose and slicked back hair who bowed and scraped so obsequiously to Christian when he ordered.

In French.

It was an uncomfortable experience for Ember, in part because the electric tension from the car had not dissipated, and in part because it reminded her too much of the early days of her father’s marriage to Marguerite. The three of them, along with the Tweedies, would visit expensive restaurants like this one and Ember and her father would suffer through endless commentaries about everything from the quality of the food to the quality of Ember’s wardrobe. Both of which were always found to be lacking. Also, she loathed oysters and foie gras, but didn’t want to seem rude or ungrateful when Christian ordered them, especially since she’d already turned down the wine.

She longed for a hamburger. And a quick escape route.

Or maybe a bullet to the head.