Snow Bound
Page 8
“That you did. Like a true Southern belle.”
She turned away from his admiring gaze before it could seduce her out of her common sense, and pulled the slip and money bag out of the drawer so she could close up. But no sooner had the drawer slid shut than a familiar heat pressed against her back. She bit down on a groan as the full slide of his body—a very hard body—met hers. There was no mistaking the rigid length now pressing against her backside, reminding her of the first time he’d come, just from rubbing against her cheeks.
She had to clear her throat a time or two before her voice would work. “What are you doing?”
He bent close so that he spoke into her ear. “What does it feel like? I’ve missed you, Tori.”
Shock held her immobile for a moment; then she swung a sharp elbow and made contact with his ribs.
“Ow! What’s that for?”
She twisted around in the suddenly ample space. Teeth clenched and jaw set, she glared at him for a moment before she could answer. “Do I look like some kind of easy piece you can hit whenever you feel like it?”
Laughter sputtered from his lips, eyes widening in shock. “I didn’t know you could talk like that, Victoria Jane.”
“Don’t call me that!” she said, surprised that he’d remembered her full name.
He sauntered closer, braving the range of her deadly elbows. “Now, Princess, what do I have to do for permission to call you by your full name? Because I’ll do it. I will.”
Stick around. Her throat ached with the need to say the words, but she held them back. She wasn’t sure she hid the message as he stared into her eyes.
“Princess, I’m not here because I want a one-night stand.”
“No?”
“No.”
Though she knew she should—that it made her a contradiction—she could feel no relief. Only trepidation at what was coming.
“I’m here for something even better,” he said.
A weekend? A month? She took a deep breath and asked, “What’s that?”
“I’m hoping my princess is lookin’ for a prince.”
Shock jolted through her, but his gaze held steady. He wasn’t kidding, was he? Her mouth opened, but no words would come. Damon reached up, rubbing his thumb along the curve of her lower lip, igniting sparks beneath her skin.
“I tried to tell myself it wasn’t what I wanted. That the need would die if I simply stayed away.” His lips twisted. “You can see how long that argument lasted.”
“I thought you weren’t the marrying type?”
“Clichéd as it is, I apparently hadn’t found the right woman yet.” He came forward one careful step at a time until her breasts barely grazed the front of his shirt. One long finger rose to trace the sloping neckline of her sweater. Back and forth, his skin brushed against hers, raising gooseflesh along with anticipation. “But then I found a woman who is sexy and sassy, who stands up for herself and doesn’t let what anybody else thinks change who she is. But most of all…”
Her voice was husky and hesitant as she asked, “What?”
“She wears a thong under her formal princess dress.”
Their laughter mingled in the silence of the store, encroaching dusk darkening the rooms around them. “So,” he asked, “will you give me a chance to prove I can be a one-woman kind of man?”
“On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“That you understand, if you don’t prove to be a one-woman kind of man, I’ll have to take a heavy flashlight to your noggin.”
He pulled her close, the steel of his erection trapped between them. His mouth brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck. “Well, I’ve always loved a woman with a weapon.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And now, Victoria Jane, I have a fantasy I simply have to see in action.”
She swallowed hard as his hands slid under the hem of her sweater. “What’s that?”
“You, me, and that gorgeous staircase over there. What do you say?”
With a short reach of her arm, she flicked the lights off. Slipping past him, she sauntered around the counter, locked the door, and strolled toward the center of the downstairs floor where the black wrought-iron staircase with its gleaming wood steps was protected from sight of the front windows by a series of bookcases. Ever so slowly she peeled her sweater set off, then her bra, watching as his gaze devoured her naked skin. Her fingers found the button on her skirt, popped it, then paused at the top of the zipper.
“Did I mention—” she waited until his hungry eyes raised to her face—“that my thong today is pink?”
The End
About the Author
Author Dani Wade started her writing journey in a childhood spent in the rural south where her favorite form of entertainment was imagining herself in the roles of romantic heroines. She now juggles her writing obsession with a patient hubby, two lively kids, and a day job. Life is crazy, but she attempts to navigate the potholes with her trusty To Do List and half a brain.
Dani Wade loves to hear from her readers! She can be contacted via email (readdaniwade @ gmail.com) or through her website http://www.DaniWade.com .For more information about her books, check out her website at www.DaniWade.wordpress.com/books/ . She also enjoys blogging weekly at www.DaniWade.wordpress.com/blog/ .
She can be found on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/dani.wade.1?ref=tn_tnmn and Twitter as @daniwade1.
Acknowledged Trademarks
Piggly Wiggly
Nacho Cheese Doritos
Cool Ranch Doritos
Maglite
Novocaine