Edge Of Darkness

35

She felt the fleet, electric brush of his lips against her skin, and her heart took off at a thundering gallop.

Ember had heard of this before, the weak knees, the dry mouth, the hair-raising electricity that could pass between two people, but she’d never experienced it. She’d had boyfriends, of course, short-lived relationships of varying degrees of intensity, but her body had never responded like this, every nerve screaming simply because a man had inhaled against her throat.

“Christian.” She breathed out in a careful, slow exhalation. “Please.”

She didn’t know what she was asking for—Stop? Go on?—but he responded by encircling one of her wrists in his hand and bringing it to his chest. He drew away so they were looking at one another and flattened her hand over his heart. He held it there, pressed against his chest, with his own hand pressed atop it, and said, “Close your eyes.”

Her lids fluttered closed on their own. She held frozen and breathless, her nerves honed to a million excruciating exclamation points. He said, “Do you feel that?”

She did. Beneath her palm, his heart was pounding as hard as her own. She nodded.

“And what does that tell you?”

His voice had dropped. This close, the scents of his skin, his hair, and his breath, were heady. Soft and sweet, yet musky and dark, he smelled like the outdoors, like night time in the deepest heart of the woods, like something natural and primitive and indefinable, moonlight and magic and fresh fallen snow.

He smelled—wild.

“It tells me that…that it’s real. Because I can feel it,” she whispered, knowing exactly what he wanted.

“That’s right,” he said, and with his other hand touched her face.

Unable to look at him, she kept her eyes closed. He held her jaw cupped in the open palm of his hand as if it were something fragile. His thumb was just beneath her left ear. Then he slid his hand forward and his other fingers curled around the back of her neck. He began to stroke his thumb lightly over that sensitive spot behind her earlobe, and it raised a rash of goosebumps on her arms.

“I’m not your type,” she whispered, all her anger at him gone. She realized it had really only been acute disappointment, both in him and in herself for getting her hopes up, but that didn’t make it any easier to look at him. She finally gathered the courage to open her eyes and found him staring down at her, his eyes shadowed and intense.

In response to her words his brows lifted. Then those green eyes of his, always so penetrating, shifted from stormy and dark to amused. “No. You’re not.”

That stung. Until he amended, “You’re smarter than my usual type.”

Thumb stroke. The goosebumps spread to her legs.

“Edgier.”

Another thumb stroke. Her heartbeat accelerated.

“More…interesting.”

His smile deepened as he said that. Her heart began suddenly to pound wildly in her chest as if she’d been injected with adrenaline, a thrum and a throb so wild and violent she thought she might faint. “Trust me, I’m about as interesting as vanilla pudding,” she said unsteadily.

How could anyone affect her heart rate like that with such a simple touch? She thought if he ever kissed her, she might pass out on the spot. Then the thought of kissing him sent her heart rate into maximum overdrive, a race car screaming toward the checkered flag.

Somehow, he sensed it. His nostrils flared with an inhalation, his gaze dropped to the pulse beating wildly in her throat. He let his gaze travel slowly up her neck and over her face, and when again their eyes met, his were heated.

“Vanilla is my favorite flavor. And pudding…” he leaned in and inhaled again, against her skin. He whispered, “Pudding is delicious. The way it melts on your tongue…”

Her mouth and brain both barely working, she blurted, “I’d have guessed chocolate would be more your speed.”

Christian pulled away, just far enough so he was still dangerously close. If she wanted to, she could have leaned forward a few short inches and pressed her lips to his.

And if she was being honest with herself, she did want to. She so wanted to.

“People think chocolate is more decadent, but…” His gaze drifted to her mouth. “Chocolate comes from a tree. You can get it anywhere, even in a convenience store. It’s common. Vanilla, on the other hand, comes from orchids. It’s one of the most expensive spices in the world, second only to saffron. It’s pure, spicy, and delicate, and its essence is used in the finest perfumes. Vanilla is rare.” His gaze lifted back to hers. “And the rarer something is, the more value it has.”

Another thumb stroke behind her ear, accompanied by a look of such stark hunger Ember had a wild thought he might lean in and eat her.