The Offer (38 page)

I stare down
at the glass. “Did you drug this?”

He smiles.
“No.”

I squint at
him. “Why are you smiling then?”

“I like to
smile at you,” he says.

I let out a
dry laugh. “Right. No, Signor Larosa, you like to frown at me.
Glower at me. Glare at me. Or just stare blankly at me like I’m not
even there. But smiling at me? Not so much.”

The smile
slides right off his face. I raise my glass at him. “See, right
there. Back to Mr. Angry Face.”

“You really
don’t think much of me, do you?” he asks. His voice is strained and
a little rough around the edges.

I take a small
sip and suck on my top lip for a moment as it burns. “Actually, I
think a lot of you.”

“All bad.”

“Didn’t you
say the bad things were the good things?” I ask him.

“Are you
comparing me to a bad habit?”

I cock my
head, considering that. “Maybe I am. But I happen to like a lot of
my bad habits.”

“Like the
drinking.”

“Yes.”

“The
eating.”

“Yes.”

“The sex.”

A small shiver
runs through me as my lips twist into a smile. Even the word sex
sounds amazing coming from his mouth. “Especially the sex. It’s the
best bad habit of all.”

He doesn’t
smile at that—no surprise—but the intensity in his gaze deepens.
His eyes burn me, and his look becomes smoldering. He’s making me
feel like I’m standing in his office completely naked, not wearing
the same billowy tank top and skinny jeans I was wearing
earlier.

“Stay right
there,” he commands me in a hushed tone.

My heart does
a few solid thuds in my throat. I swallow uneasily. “Okay.”

I know I’m
staring at him with wide Bambi eyes, I can’t help it. I follow his
every movement as he comes around the desk and walks toward me.

He stops in
front of me, so tall and large. I can see his pulse tick along his
throat and the dark danger in his eyes as they peer at me through
black lashes.

I grip the
glass of scotch hard, afraid of what’s going to happen next.

Because
something has to happen; something
is
happening.

I’ve never
been looked at this way before—stripped bare by a carnal gaze—and
it would be a shame to let it go to waste.

He places both
hands on either side of my face and I feel so small, so conquered,
so . . . coveted. His skin is hot and rough to the touch and
alights my entire body until I’m buzzing with fiery
anticipation.

“I need to
kiss you,” he says, and it’s the smartest thing he’s said all day.
“Please.”

I try and say
“okay” but it catches in my throat. I saw this coming—a man can’t
stare at a woman like that without kissing her—but it still unwinds
me like a spool of thread.

He’s still
staring at me, his brow furrowing, casting shadows down his perfect
face. His lips are just out of reach. “I need to know if I can feel
anything. I want to feel something.”

There’s a
quiet desperation in his voice. It makes me ache for him.

Then he leans
in and kisses me. His lips are soft, perhaps a little unsure as
they press against mine, but then the pressure increases, our
mouths yielding in unison and it feels like drinking and breathing
and living. He tastes like the honey tones of scotch and of faded
smoke and mint. It’s an elixir that flows down my throat and right
between my legs, and his probing tongue stirs it further.

My tongue
teases his back as it slides into my mouth, stoking the wildfires.
Our kiss deepens and his hands find their way into my hair. He lets
out a low moan that reverberates through me and I gasp in response,
the glass almost slipping from my hands. I want to pull him into
me, I want more of this, all the time. My free hand slips around
his back and presses into his firm, hard muscles. I’m so incredibly
turned on that I’m seconds from just throwing the scotch across the
room and dropping to my knees. I want to take him in my mouth and
make him moan again, I want to make him feel something. I want to
make him feel me. I want to know what he looks like when he comes,
if it brings him some kind of peace.

I want so much
more than the hunger and desire he’s already giving me, our lips,
tongue, mouth heating up, our kiss fueling our needs and our needs
threatening to take over. I wonder if he’s afraid of this kiss
because to me it feels a bit like drowning. But we’re not drowning
alone. We’re clinging onto each other like a life raft.

I’m so
insatiable now, so greedy, that I almost whimper when he pulls
away. He holds me, fisting my hair, and presses his forehead
against mine, eyes pinched shut and breathing hard. I gulp in the
air, unsure if we’re going to stop or if I need to refuel to go
further. I could go all night and every night after that.

My lips tingle
now and a few beats pass.

“Did you feel
anything?” I ask softly, hopefully.

He shakes his
head ever so slightly, his forehead damp against mine. “No,” he
murmurs. “I felt everything.”

Look for Racing the Sun on bookshelves on July
28
^th
2015. I wrote this book inspired by my favorite book of all
time – Jane Eyre – and it’s set in Italy, where I actually went in
October to research, so I can tell you …this book is hot, romantic
and legit. Can’t wait for you all to read it!