by Mia Downing
He set the tray on the table away from the books. “Now, what do you want to drink? I have a pot of coffee brewing, or there’s water, or soda, or maybe something alcoholic…”
That’s what I needed—a stiff drink. Or two. Or three. But I gave him a cool stare with a raised brow. “You trying to get me drunk?”
“Never.” But his mouth quirked in a devilish way that said he saw through my prickliness.
If drinking got my mind off his hands, I’d give it a try. “What do you have that would go in coffee?”
Those deep-blue eyes of his darkened, and his smile broadened. “Rum? Whiskey?”
“Surprise me. After all, ‘surprise’ is your middle name.”
“That it is.” He left again.
I selected a piece of cheese and glanced at the window seat as I ate. Outside, the rain battered the glass, sheeting down to blur the view of the cove. The villagers always talked about the fabled view from this famous house, and now, I was getting the shitty version of it. That figured.
My stomach growled as I nibbled, and I piled cheese and meat on a cracker as I rose. I took a bite as I crossed to inspect the view from the window seat.
I blinked and leaned closer, my heart pounding as I traced my finger over the stained-glass edging around the bow window. The intricate vine pattern wove its way up each side and met at the top of the window in the middle with a little pink heart. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I fought to breathe. I’d drawn this vine pattern before years ago. I’d seen it in a couple of odd dreams, but it had only needed a quick sketch to purge it from my brain.
What the actual fuck?
“You like the pattern?” Marek asked from behind me.
I jumped, my hand snatching away from the glass to flutter at my throat. “What? Oh, yes. It’s pretty.”
He set mugs of steaming coffee on the table and got a bottle of booze from his desk. “Don’t look. This is a surprise.”
I obeyed and turned a little, studying the vines again, the way they crept up the side of the window… I’d seen that before, somewhere else. Distracted, I asked, “So what is your middle name?” I cheated and glanced over at him.
“What?” His brows rose with shock as he spilled the liquid onto the desk. “Shit.”
“Well, it’s not shit. Or surprise.” I glanced again at the green glass where it mingled with the pink heart. Damn it. Why couldn’t I recall where I’d seen it?
“It’s no to both.” He laughed and dabbed a napkin at the spilled alcohol. “I don’t have one.”
That isn’t true.
Wait. How did I know that? I didn’t. I couldn’t.
Panic welled inside me, and my ever-present energy churned. My breath caught in my throat as I licked my dry lips, and my gaze landed on the bottle in his strong hands. “Can I have a shot of that?”
“This?” With raised brows, he lifted the bottle of amber liquid. “Sure.”
I had to pull it together. I turned back to the storm raging outside, closing my eyes to focus on the roar of the wind and the pelting of rain on the glass to soothe me. One breath. Two. Three. The energy inside me tilted then stabilized to a steady swirl.
“Here you go,” he said from my side, his voice seductive, his slight accent sending a delicious shiver up my spine.
Much calmer, I opened my eyes and turned to smile up at him. “Thank you.”
I took the shot glass from his hand and pointed a free finger toward the second one in his hand. “You’re joining me?”
“Well, yeah, you need a partner in crime. That’s one thing I’m really good at.” That devilish smile returned, and my prickly heart melted at his sincere words. “What are we drinking to?”
“Storms.” That didn’t take much thought, though I probably sounded certifiable to him. Who was I kidding? I was certifiable.
Hold it together, Skye.
But he didn’t bat an eyelash as he raised his glass. “To storms.”
We knocked our shots back. The spice of rum hit my tongue, and a moment later, the liquid burned its way down my throat to my stomach. I wasn’t a big drinker, but for some reason, this gave me courage, like drinking would somehow solve my insanity issues.
I decided to just ask him. Maybe I wasn’t crazy. “The vine pattern on the window… It’s familiar.”
“Yes, it should be,” Marek said. “You don’t recall why?”
“No.” The rum warmed my insides, and his agreement made me brave. “If anything, I’m thinking it’s a little crazy for me to link that pattern to…something.”
“You’re not crazy.”
“Okay, Doctor Young, thanks for your diagnosis. So where’s it from?”
He laughed and took my shot glass, the casual brush of his hand on mine sending pleasurable shocks up my arm. “Pushy thing, aren’t you?”
“That’s your opinion.” The panic from before faded, replaced with a renewed appreciation of his ass as he turned to the table.
“One more?” He lifted the bottle in askance.
I couldn’t resist, not when I was starting to feel warm, fuzzy, and less crazy. “Sure. What the hell, right? But just one more.”
As he poured, he asked, “How long have you been friends with Grace?”
I turned and sank onto the window seat, glad to have something mundane to discuss. “Since high school. She and Todd are a year older, and we’ve all worked at the bookstore since then.” I had been emancipated early from foster care due to my access to a hefty trust fund and a good lawyer. The Dexters owned the house I lived in. Todd’s aunt lived downstairs.
“She and Todd a thing?”
“No.” I laughed at the thought. “Grace would eat him alive. I think it’s a mutual agreement that they coexist without actually speaking to each other more than they have to.”
He capped the bottle with a deliberate twist, his gaze darkening. “Are you and Todd a thing?”
I laughed again. “God, no. I mean, he has asked me out, but he’s not my type.”
Then I cringed. Great. I’d just invited Marek to ask me my type, because that’s what most guys did when I made a mistake like that. And I wasn’t ready to admit that maybe he was my type.
“Good.” His smile was smug, and I had a sneaking suspicion he just wanted to make sure Todd wasn’t competition. A different sort of warmth coursed over my skin and settled low in my belly as he crossed the room to hand me my drink. “So, what are we drinking to this time?”
I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. “To the cemetery, where we first met.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
This one went down much easier, and I closed my eyes as I savored my energy’s internal hum of approval. I’d spent this long in Marek’s presence and had yet to feel it rankle. I had no idea why the energy liked him, but whatever. As long as it was quiet, and I didn’t have weird episodes, I’d be content.
And just like clockwork, one of those weird visions flashed, showing me a gravestone and the delicate vine pattern that wound along the edges, meeting at the top of the stone in a perfect heart.
Bingo. My eyes popped open. “M.S. Storm’s headstone. That’s where I’ve seen the vine pattern before. It’s not the same, but the heart detail at the top of the stone and on your window are almost exact.”
“Good job.” He smiled and took my shot glass. “You want another?”
“No, thank you. The coffee should be plenty.” I tried to focus on his ass as he went to the table to get the coffee mugs and failed. All I could think about was the vine on the stone. Damn it. I had to ask. “Is there any connection between M.S. Storm and your house?”
I had expected him to look at me like I’d grown an extra head, but instead, he smiled like I was a clever student. Gingerly, he crossed to the smaller runner rug and handed me a mug. “Yes, there is. The stained-glass dates back the mid-1880s when the house was refurbished. Why don’t you see if you can guess the connection?”
I sipped my coffee,
the rum going down much easier when mixed with the coffee. A warm haze began to surround me, helping the storm to tame the swirling of energy deep inside me. “Did M.S. Storm live here before your family did? Is that why you’re so fascinated with purchasing those books?”
“That’s a great guess.” He sipped his coffee, contemplating me over the rim. I loved the shape of his eyes, the way the corners crinkled just so.
“But it’s not correct.” I wanted to be right, for him to praise me again.
He hesitated a moment before he said, “Not quite. You probably won’t guess the truth, though.”
“Then tell me.” I tapped my foot against his and immediately regretted it. All that calm energy focused on him, the way his long fingers laced around his mug, the way he contemplated me as if I were…amazing. His gaze dropped to my mouth, and I fought licking my lips as my breath hitched.
“How about this?” His gaze met mine again. “If you don’t guess before you go, I’ll tell you.”
“Fine. I’m leaving now.” Joking, I rose.
He laughed and grabbed my free hand, his palm inviting as it pressed against my wrist. “I have more things to show you. Maybe some of them will give you a hint.”
I sank down on the window seat, and his hand stayed on my wrist, his thumb tracing a tiny circle on the lower part of my forearm.
Turning his hand, his palm covered mine. Normally, I’d shrink away from that contact. Instead, I relished the warmth and dryness in contrast to the damp, nervous mess going on with my hand.
“Skye, put your coffee down,” he suggested.
“Why?”
“Because I want to claim kiss two.”
Chapter six
Skye
He wanted to claim kiss two.
My hand trembled as I quickly set the mug of coffee on the wooden lip between the cushion and the glass. I thought he’d come to me, but he sat back so he leaned against the opposite wall of the reading nook, his denim-clad legs crossed at the ankle.
“Come here,” he invited, patting the space between the window and his long form. “If I kiss you, I’m going to grope. You’d better be in charge, so I don’t.”
The idea of being in control intrigued me, my mouth roaming his, teasing him at my leisure. I’d never wanted to be in control before. I usually did whatever I had to get the guys to leave me alone. Now, I wanted one to stay, so I could chase after more than a speedy exit.
Leaving my coffee behind, I crawled along the window to settle at his side. A herd of butterflies awoke in my stomach, but they seemed to mix well with the booze. “If I’m in charge, shouldn’t I be claiming the kiss?”
His wide shoulders rose and fell with sexy nonchalance. “If you want. This could be kiss two, the next one two-a.”
I sat back on my heels, unsure what to do next. My hand rose and fell, my fingers wanting to slip into his too-long hair, to trace his sideburns, to cup his strong jaw. I drew in a deep breath and caught the scent of rum mixed with smoke from the fireplace laced with a note of something masculine. Someone could bottle that for me, and I’d be immediately aroused every day.
“You can touch me,” he said. “I’d really like that.”
My hand faltered and fell to my lap. “But you don’t want to touch me?”
“Kiss two is no groping, some tongue. Those were your rules, not mine.”
Oh. Those were my rules. Now, I had to follow them or find a way around them. For a girl who didn’t usually touch people, this was all very confusing. And hard. “And what would we be doing under your rules?”
“Mmm.” His dark lashes fluttered closed as he drew a deep breath. When they slid open, they were dark with desire, his pupils dilated. “I’d want to sink my hands in your hair, bury my nose in it, and just inhale you.”
I tried not to shudder with desire. How could anyone understand how sexy it was for him to talk about not really touching me? For someone who felt too much, it was almost an aphrodisiac. “That’s not groping.”
“No? Oh.” His gaze darted to my mouth as he cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “Then come here.”
As he gently tugged, I eagerly followed, my breathing a little raspy with excitement. As he’d suggested, his hand slipped from my cheek into my hair just below my ear. With deliberate slowness, he shifted so his lips touched neck, his nose nuzzling my skin as he inhaled. “You smell like lavender.”
“I’m surprised you know the name.”
“I spent all summer gardening.” Gentle kisses marked a heated path along my neck. His hand remained in my hair, cupping my head so he could have better access.
As he nipped my earlobe, I sighed at the ripple of pleasure. No guy had ever just kissed my neck, or stroked my cheek, or anything as remotely sexy as this. My toes curled in my socks as I leaned into his lips. “Marek.”
“Hmm? I bet you’re ticklish here.” His tongue flicked just under my ear.
I squirmed and fought a giggle.
“See? I know this stuff. And I bet a soft kiss here will make you quiver.” He nuzzled lower, his mouth finding a sensitive spot on my neck that sent shivers up my spine.
“Marek.” I closed my eyes and softened, willing him to just take control.
“Darat nan,” he whispered.
As his lips claimed mine, his arm wrapped around me, his large hand splayed on my back. Instant arousal flashed over my skin, his gentle seduction dampening my panties. With a tug on my leg, he had me straddle his firm thighs, so I was on top. Before I could protest, he deepened the kiss, his tongue darting between my lips, begging me to part.
I groaned and opened my mouth to his. As I leaned forward for more access, my hands thudded to balance on the wall behind his head. Most kisses I’d had revolved around mouths mashing and a tongue rammed down my throat. God, this man could kiss. His lips changed their slant and pressure, lightening, his tongue withdrawing to tease mine before diving in a little deeper to stroke me fully.
He broke the kiss so his lips could dart to the other side of my neck. In between hot kisses, he murmured, “There are other things I’d do, if my hands being still isn’t considered groping.”
“Oh?”
“I’d put them on your hips.”
“That sounds innocent enough.”
“I’m glad.”
The fingers on one hand skimmed from my hair to trail down my cheek, down my arm, leaving a wake of euphoric shocks along his path to rest on my hip. The other deliberately left my back, his fingers spreading as he dragged them along my ribs. One tip grazed under my breast with the softest pressure, and I resisted dipping down to follow his hand. His mouth shifted to the neckline of my shirt that exposed my collar bone, nibbling the valleys and dips as both hands settled, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles above the waistband of my jeans.
“You know, I don’t think you’re comfortable,” he confided.
“I’m not?” I wasn’t, not when his tongue lapped the bare skin just inches from the top of my breast.
“No,” he whispered as he gave my hips a tiny tug at the exact time he nipped my skin.
I sank, sitting directly on his thighs. A jolt of surprise and pleasure ripped through me, pooling deep inside my core. Oh, the heat. To have that much of me touching him… It had to be wrong to not be repulsed.
I must have looked shocked as I stared down at him, because he smiled encouragingly. “See, that’s not so bad.”
“There’s nothing innocent about how I’m sitting on your lap.” God, I was inches from his dick. Inches. I wanted nothing more than to close the gap.
“Sweetness, there is nothing innocent about me.” His lips curved into a dirty smile, his gaze narrowing on my mouth. One hand left my hip to cup my cheek, guiding my lips back to his.
I expected his mouth to take up where he’d left off, plundering and claiming, but when he closed the gap between us, he slanted his lips across mine with a gentle reverence that made me shudder with desire. Despite his claim of lack of
innocence, the gentle nibbling of his mouth, his tongue merely tracing the seam of my lips seemed to celebrate something pure and illusive.
I wasn’t pure.
Cautiously, I let more weight settle onto his legs as I lifted my palms from the wall. Itching to touch him, I ran my fingers through his hair, the strands silky soft. Trailing down to his jaw, I settled my palm along his face, reveling in the slight rasp of stubble on my fingertips. As I was taller at the moment, I found I could direct the kiss, deepening it as I saw fit. I framed his face in both hands and claimed him, my tongue demanding he part his lips and follow my lead.
He groaned, the vibration ringing over every nerve. The grip on my hips tightened, and he tugged me that last decadent inch, the heat of his hard length burning through the seam of my crotch, searing my panties. He followed that with one last yank that shoved my clit against a hard button of his fly.
I almost exploded right then and there, the shock of pleasure curling my toes. I lifted my head from his to drag in a ragged breath. The energy inside me swirled to an anxious pitch, begging for the after I’d never gotten. What would it feel like to kiss him unshielded, unprotected? Bare to whatever energy he had to offer in return?
“Marek! Yo!” a male voice called from the kitchen, a door banging.
Marek blew out a breath, and he drew my forehead down to press against his as he panted. “Shit. It’s Jay.”
I climbed off Marek’s thighs, my legs shaking as I rolled to the side. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame what I’d messed up as he rose. He straightened his shirt, covering the distinct bulge of arousal. That had been mine, all for me. Imagine that.
With a soft smile, he dropped a gentle kiss to my lips. “I’ll be back, and I’ll bring fresh coffee.”
“Okay.”
His firm, denim-clad ass was a glorious sight as he walked out the door and down the hall to the kitchen.
I ran a hand through my hair, smoothing the mussed locks as I reached for my coffee mug. I sipped and found it still warm, the liquor tart and spicy.
God, if that was kiss two, kiss three had to involve naked bodies and lots of groping. And hot fucking. And an orgasm. And an after.