Sweet as Sin

28

I spoke into his chest, avoiding his eyes. I didn’t know if I could withstand those eyes. “She likes. She likes a lot. Everything is so beautiful, the flowers, everything. And the mariachis are like . . . wow.”

“Couldn’t forget mariachis. They were playing in the background on our first date.”

I peeked up at him. He remembered what music was playing at Lula’s?

“And on date one point five, in that movie you liked. So I guess this is our song.”

Was this man for real?

Nico saw my look of disbelief. He swept his thumb over my cheek. His voice dropped, becoming almost inaudible. “Needed to make you some better birthday memories, sweetheart. Needed you to know I’m a man who’s gonna take care of your heart.”

Oh, oh, and oh. I squeezed shut my eyes, determined not to cry. I made a joke instead. “If this is a ploy to get out of my three-date rule, it’s totally working.”

He was silent for a minute, while the band played on, serenading the neighborhood. “Know you got your girls over, or I’d take you up on that, darlin’. You can take another half date off our total, though. Seein’ as how there’s flowers and music and all.”

I laughed softly. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Nyx. But I think we can make an exception, considering the flowers and music. You have a deal. We’ve now officially been on two dates.”

He took my face in his hands. My own hands were occupied with exploring beneath the hem of his untucked T-shirt. Against my fingertips, his abdomen was warm, muscled, and hard. His abs contracted as I brushed over them, giving me an odd and wonderful feeling of power.

Maybe it was the music. Maybe it was the balmy evening air. Or maybe it was all I’d had to drink. But suddenly I was struck with the fiercest need to get closer to him. Physically closer. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to trace every plane and angle of his body with my tongue. I wanted to gobble him up. I’d never felt so ravenous.

I’d never wanted a man as much as this one, right here, right now.

“But, you know, no date’s complete without a kiss, Nico.”

My quiet words sent a rumble through his chest. He looked straight at me, his gaze intense. “Not really askin’ for a kiss, are you, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t a question. He knew. My answer came on the faintest breath. “No.”

He bent his head, bringing his face to mine. With wonderful, slow strokes that made me shiver with desire, he brushed his mouth against mine, teasing my lips softly with his tongue. “What is it you’re askin’ for then, Kat? What is it you want, baby? Tell me.”

He fisted a hand into my hair. He wound his other arm around my back. He held me in place against him, my head tilted up, my eyes staring into his.

I should have been scared, but I wasn’t. I should have held back, or played it smart. I probably should have done something else—anything else—but tell the truth.

But deep down, I knew what I wanted, no matter how stupid it might be. And I’d always sucked at playing games. “You, Nico. I want you. All of you.”

His eyes went hot and dark. Silent, he held me there against him for a moment, just looking at me. Then, chuckling, he cracked a grin. “Hmm. She’s had one too many, I see.”

I was taken aback. That wasn’t the reaction I’d hoped for. “That has nothing to do with anything! Didn’t you hear what I said? I want you! You should be kissing me right now!”

His grin grew wider. “Darlin’, that’s real sweet, but I don’t take advantage of drunk women.”

Because I tended toward dramatic after an evening of cocktails and tragic love movies, I gasped in mock outrage. “What kind of rock star are you? Isn’t that in the job description? Rape, pillage, etcetera?”

His face did a funny thing then. It was part flinch, part disgust, a bit of something I would have sworn was pain. But he closed off his expression so quickly it was almost as if it hadn’t happened.

But it had. And it scared me. And because my verbal filter had been disabled by alcohol, I blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Oh dear God please don’t tell me there’s an ugly story involving rape in your past.”

Had it been physically possible, Nico’s gaze would have incinerated me. But if his eyes were fiery, his voice was the opposite: ice, ice cold. “That’s what you think? That I’m capable of that?”

Not only was his answer evasive, but also it was one of those turn-it-back-on-you questions I absolutely hated. One of my exes used to wield that weapon with particular effectiveness. I stared at him a moment, trying to rein in my temper. “No.”

He looked relieved. I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse.

“But . . . ”

His relieved look vanished, replaced with wariness, and he stiffened.

“There’s a story there, right?”

After a silent moment spent combing his fingers pensively through my hair, he nodded. “It’s not my story, though,” he added when I began to pull away, alarmed. He gathered me back into his arms, and rested his temple against mine. He spoke softly, his warm breath caressing my cheek. “That’s not me, Kat. I would never . . . I could never do anything like that.”

He was sincere. Or at least he sounded sincere. Into my mind, Grace’s voice made an unwelcome comment. Pathological liars are really good at that kind of thing.