Time to change the subject. And get this seduction back on track.
‘The point is,’ he began, because there had been a point in there somewhere, ‘when I called you cute, I wasn’t picturing you peeing in my closet or drinking from my john.’
She snorted out another laugh. ‘That’s a relief.’
He chuckled back, despite the heat now pounding in his abdomen like a nuclear reactor. He swung the Mustang onto her street, pulled into the driveway next to the tiny vacation rental and switched off the transmission. ‘But I could probably live with the puppy analogy.’ He slung his arm over the back of her seat, touched his knu
ckle to her cheek and watched her smile falter. ‘If you had the sudden urge to lick me to death.’
Her pupils dilated and the freckles on her nose stood out against the flush of colour. He ran his knuckle across the soft skin, hooked a curl behind her ear.
Her tongue flicked out to moisten her bottom lip as those big almond eyes dipped to his mouth.
Cradling her cheek, he leaned across the stick shift and pressed his lips to hers. Determined to keep it slow this time, and easy.
She gasped, a soft sob that filled the air with the sweet scent of margaritas and desire. He swept his tongue across her lips, tempting her to open her mouth—knowing her taste was more intoxicating than that first sip of cherry cola on a sweltering summer day.
‘Or I could just lick you to death,’ he murmured, finally letting go of the pretence that he didn’t want to devour her in a few greedy bites. ‘Your call?’
Iona dragged herself back from the warm touch of his fingers on her cheek, transfixed by the low murmur of his voice. She sucked in air past the constriction in her throat and got a lungful of his light spicy cologne tempered by the salty sea scent in his hair.
He wanted to lick her to death.
The hot ball of desire plunged, sending ripples of sensation radiating out.
‘What do you say, Iona?’ The husky tone made the desire ignite. ‘It’s your choice, no pressure. But I’d like to take this further.’
Yes, please.
The thought shot into her mind and spilled out of her mouth. ‘Me too.’
His quick smile made her breath catch. Then he kissed her again. The press of lips hot and firm, the lingering touch of his tongue brief, subtle and not nearly enough. ‘Let’s take this inside.’
She nodded. But as she stepped out of the car and he clasped her hand and led her to the postage-stamp-size porch her mind began to race through all the things that could go wrong. She fumbled to find her keys as his palm rested on the slope of her back and rubbed.
Zane Montoya was hot and sexy and a bit too overwhelming What if she tensed up? What if, beneath that seductive charm, he was as rough and impatient as Brad?
She rushed ahead of him into the dark interior, heard the door close behind him, the thrum of purpose and possibilities tempered by the shot of panic.
His footsteps followed her into the galley kitchen. She dropped her keys and purse on the table, crossed to the sink and poured herself a glass of water. Her fingers trembled on the tumbler as he wrapped warm hands round her waist and enveloped her in that delicious scent again.
His lips traced the arch of her neck and she tilted her head, instinctively giving him access despite the tangle of nerves.
‘You taste great, querida.’ Hot breath nuzzled her neck as the forceful imprint of his erection pressed into her buttocks. ‘As great as cookie-dough ice cream with extra chocolate chips.’
A desperate little laugh came out at the silly compliment, but then his large palms settled on her waist. She stiffened as the heat spread.
He moved his hands to her hips, turned her gently to face him. Lifting the forgotten tumbler out of her numb fingers, he placed it on the countertop.
‘Iona, if you’ve changed your mind, you only have to say so.’ The words were tight, a little strained, but there was no edge to them.
She raised her gaze and what she saw made her heart ricochet. The dramatic planes and angles looked even more breathtaking gilded by moonlight.
She shook her head. ‘I haven’t changed my mind. I’m nervous, I guess.’
He rested his hands on her hips, caressed the cotton. ‘Why nervous? Is it too soon? After Demarest?’
She heard the controlled anger in his voice. And realised he thought she’d been a victim. That Demarest had traumatised her. When the truth was a lot more sordid.