"Thank you." She pulled an extra glass from the cupboard, then held up her opened bottle of chianti. "Would you like some?"
He shook his head slowly. "Regretfully, I cannot."
"Ah. Sorry," she said, reminding herself of his profession. "On duty, right?"
A muscle jumped in his strong jaw. "Always."
Gabrielle smiled, reaching up to hook some of her loose, curling hair behind her ear. Thorne's gaze followed the movement, and narrowed on the small scratch that marred her cheek.
"What happened to you?"
"Oh, nothing," she replied, not thinking it was a good idea to tell a cop how she spent part of the morning trespassing out at the old asylum. "Just a scrape - hazard of the job from time to time. I'm sure you know how that goes."
She laughed lightly, a bit nervously, because suddenly he was moving toward her, his expression very serious. Just a few smooth paces brought him right up in front of her. His size - his obvious strength - was overwhelming. This close, she could see the thick slabs of muscle that bunched and moved under his black shirt. The fine knit fabric clung to his shoulders, arms, and chest, as if tailored to fit him perfectly.
And he smelled amazing. She didn't detect cologne, only the trace scents of mint and leather, and something darker, like an exotic spice she could not name. Whatever it was, it drenched her senses in something elemental and primal that drew her closer to him when she probably should be backing away.
She sucked in her breath as he reached out to her, the tips of his fingers tenderly grazing her jaw. Heat spread out from that bare contact, flooding her neck as he splayed his hand along the sensitive skin below her ear and around to her nape. With his thumb, he traced the abrasion on her cheek. The scrape had stung when she cleansed it earlier in the day, but now, under his unexpectedly soft caress, she felt no discomfort. Nothing but languid warmth and a slow, swirling ache at her very core.
To her astonishment, he leaned down and dropped a kiss on her marred cheek. His lips lingered there, long enough for her to understand that this was meant as a prelude to something more. She closed her eyes, heart racing. She didn't move, hardly breathed, as she felt Lucan's mouth drift toward hers. He kissed her lips meaningfully, a faint bite of hunger cushioned within the warm press of his mouth. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her. His gaze held an animal wildness that sent a thrill of anxiousness shooting up her spine.
When she finally found her voice, it came out in a small, breathless rasp. "Should you be doing this?"
That penetrating gaze stayed rooted on her. "Oh, yes."
He bent down to her again, brushing his lips over her cheeks, her chin, her throat. She sighed, and he caught her little gasp with a searing kiss, thrusting his tongue between her parted lips. Gabrielle took him in, vaguely aware that his hand was behind her now, slipping beneath the hem of her tee-shirt. He stroked the arch of her bare back, his fingers tenderly brushing her spine. His caress traveled lazily downward, over the fabric of her pants. His strong fingers cupped the curve of her ass, squeezed her tightly. She didn't resist at all as he kissed her deeper and gradually pulled her forward, until her pelvis mashed against the hard muscle of his thigh.
What the hell was she doing? What was she thinking here?
"No," she said, her conscience struggling to surface. "No, wait. Stop." God, how she hated the sound of that word when his mouth was feeling so damned good on hers. "Are you... Lucan... are you with someone?"
"Look around, Gabrielle." His lips dragged over hers as he spoke, making her dizzy with want. "It is only you and me."
"A girlfriend," she blurted between kisses. It was probably a little late to be asking, but she had to know, even if she wasn't at all sure how she would deal with an answer she didn't want to hear. "Do you have a girlfriend? Are you married? Please don't tell me you're married..."
"There is no one else."
Only you.
She was pretty sure he hadn't said those last couple of words, but Gabrielle heard them echo in her mind, warm and provocative, stripping her of any resistance.
Oh, he was good. Or maybe she was just that desperate for him, because that spare, unadorned pledge was all he gave her - that, and the dizzying combination of his tender hands and hot, hungry mouth - and yet she believed him without a shred of doubt. She felt as if his every sense was trained on her alone. As if there was only her, only him, and this burning thing that existed between them.
Had existed, from the moment he first showed up on her doorstep.
"Ohh," she gasped as the breath left her lungs in a slow sigh. She sagged against him, reveling in the feel of his hands on her skin, caressing her throat, her shoulder, the arch of her spine. "What are we doing here, Lucan?"
His low growl of humor hummed beside her ear, deep as night. "I think you know."
"I don't know anything, not when you're doing that. Oh... God."
He broke their kiss for an instant, looking into her eyes as he ground into her with a slow, meaningful thrust. His sex was rigid at her abdomen. She could feel the solid length of him, could feel the sheer size and strength of his shaft, even through the barrier of their clothes. A flood of moist heat surged between her legs at the thought of taking him inside of her.
"This is why I came here tonight." Lucan's voice rumbled beside her ear. "Do you understand, Gabrielle? I want you."
The feeling was more than mutual. Gabrielle moaned, her body writhing against his with a heat she had no power to control.
This wasn't happening, not really. It had to be another crazy dream, like the one she'd had after the first time she met him. She wasn't actually standing in her kitchen with Lucan Thorne, letting this man she hardly knew beyond his name seduce her. She was dreaming - had to be - and before long she was going to wake up on her sofa, alone as usual, with her glass of red wine dumped on the carpet and her dinner burning in the oven.