“Really? I don’t think anyone has ever called me that,” I finally managed to say. Croak might be another description—my voice was suddenly very hoarse.
“Then you have not met the right man,” he answered, his breath fanning across my mouth as he spoke. “Because I think you have all the qualifications. Would you mind if I kissed you now?”
“Mind? Well . . .” I said slowly, pretending to think about it. My body knew better. It was all but throwing itself on him. I let my fingers wander up to his neck, tangling them in the short curls of his hair. “I have this policy against kissing murderers and kidnappers, and you’re both.”
“Says who?” he asked, his hands sliding up my arms to my shoulders, then down my ribcage. Even through the barrier of my clothing, little rivulets of molten pleasure fo
