29
Marc looked at me for the longest time.
Ally had once said he had the sort of eyes that could see everything, and that was how I felt right now. Vulnerable and exposed, my soul stripped bare.
When I couldn’t bear it any longer, I licked my lips because my throat felt dry. “Marc?”
His gaze dropped to my mouth. “You got the cameras set up in here yet?”
“No. Why?”
“Good.” His hands came down to rest on my hips and he pushed me gently against the bookcase.
My eyes widened and I must have look panicked because he cupped my face with a palm and stroked my cheek with his thumb tenderly—so tenderly, it surprised me.
“Relax. I don’t bite.” He swept his eyes over me then cocked his head to one side. “Much.”
“Kiss me,” I blurted, and felt my face redden. How was it I was an actress known for my poise and sophistication, yet right now I felt like an awkward teenager?
His thumb continued to stroke my cheek. I took a shuddering breath and leaned into his hand.
“I plan to,” he said, his deep voice soft. “Just figuring out my strategy.”
“Strategy?” I breathed. What on earth? The man was killing me.
“Yeah. I didn’t come here today planning for this.”
“Plans change.” I didn’t think about what I was doing, I just acted.
I grabbed his hips and pulled him to me, crushing him against me. The bookshelf dug into my back, but I hardly noticed. The feeling of his hard, muscular chest against me filled me with a sense of relief, but only for a moment. I needed more. So much more.
Up close his dark brown eyes appeared brighter. Like the dark shadows had been chased away, and for once I was able to see the emotion swirling in them. Amusement. Fondness. Hunger. And perhaps a lingering hint of wariness.
His thumb slipped under my chin and tipped my face toward his.
“What’s your strategy now, Romero?”
“How about we start with this?”
He brushed his lips against mine. It was just the merest touch, but I was helpless and glad of the support of the bookcase behind me.
I don’t know why I had thought he’d eat me up. Maybe it was his training, but I could feel him measuring my reaction before he planned his next move. His level of restraint was intoxicating.
“More,” I whispered.
He ducked his head and took his time to taste. Agonizingly soft pressure against my mouth and gentle nips, seducing me with the promise of what was to come.
I wound my hands behind his neck and used my tongue to take a tentative taste. His deep groan was all the encouragement I needed. I opened myself to him, inviting him to take whatever he wanted and his tongue darted into my mouth, his restraint gone.
In one easy move, he picked me up and set me on the empty bookcase beside us. I’d removed the shelves earlier to dust them and now it acted as a seat. I wrapped my legs around him and trembled at his hardness pressed against me.
His hand cradled my neck and eased my head back. A whisper of lips and a caress of his tongue trailed down my neck. I felt him kiss my scar, then his hands found their way under my T-shirt and lifted it over my head.
He contemplated my half-naked form with dark eyes that smoldered, then put his hands either side of me on the shelf. He dipped his head down and dragged his bottom lip against the exposed flesh of my cleavage. And again on the other side.
The bra felt suffocating and much too tight, and I found myself fumbling behind me to remove it. When it came free, Marc slipped it off and I heard it fall to the floor.
He wasn’t touching me, but his gaze was enough to set me on fire, and for a brief second I recalled the acrid smell of smoke.
“I dreamed of you that night,” I confessed.
He met my eyes and I saw the question in them.
“The night of the fire. When you rescued me.”
He nodded once, then reached out and took my hands. He tugged gently and I was drawn forward to a standing position. He turned, a hand still in mine, and pulled me toward the lone chaise sitting in the center of the room. I’d brought it over from my estate knowing it would be perfect for my new library.
“Lie down.”
He let go of my hand and I lay down, my shoulders against the backrest.
He stood above me, watchful. “You’re like a work of art. If it didn’t kill me so much to share you with the world, I’d have you painted like this.”
I sucked in a sharp breath at the meaning of his words, the possessive tone of his voice—everything.
He straddled me on the lounge, making me glad it was an expensive recreation instead of a priceless antique. He cupped my breast with a hand and teased it to a taut peak with his thumb. I arched up beneath him, aching for him. He bowed his head and his tongue made me cry out.
“Please,” I moaned, not sure what I was begging for. To put me out of my misery? To devour me?
He raised his head, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Seeing as you asked so nicely.”
He undid the zip on my jeans roughly and pulled them down, taking my panties with them. His eyes were like molten coal as he worked them down my legs and dropped them onto the floor.
“You’re still dressed,” I said.
He ripped the T-shirt over his head so it joined my jeans and I stared at him. God, he was beautiful. So much of him was hard—rigid muscle and firm planes of smooth skin I wanted to run my hands over. But now I knew underneath that protective shell was a man I wanted to get to know.
He straddled me again, still wearing his jeans.
“Marc?”
“Not yet. I want to know if you dreamed of this.”
I groaned as his tongue left a trail along my inner thighs and found me wet and ready. I gripped his shoulders, my fingernails digging into his bare skin.
“Sorry,” I mumbled half-heartedly.
“I can take it. Hold on.”
I cried out as his tongue found me again. Slowly, I felt two fingers slip inside me and instinctively angled myself to take him deeper. He increased the pace of his tongue but the rhythm of his fingers was slow and leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world.
I held back a sob, my fingernails grazing his back.
He ignored me, or maybe he didn’t, because he didn’t let up and I finally understood what it meant to have the intensity of Marc’s focus directed at me.
The world receded and we were the only two people in it, but I wasn’t sure I was alive anymore. I was a mass of quivering muscles and sensitive nerve endings and still I wanted more and Marc was determined to give it. Warmth built in my core, a pleasant sensation that transformed into something more dangerous. It flared, sparked, then burned, heating me from within.
I yelped and pushed my face into the side of the chaise, muffling the sound as everything burst around me, feeling flames lick my skin. A wave of pleasure so close to pain washed over me, and it felt as though I’d been doused in it, reduced to molten glass, delicate and without form.
Marc held me fast and stayed silent even though my nails threatened to pierce his skin.
When I caught my breath and everything came back into focus, I immediately released my grip on his shoulders.
I looked at him, shocked and dazed.
He sat up and his gaze roamed over my naked body. “Princess?”
“Marc.” It was about the only thing I was capable of saying.
“More?”
I felt my eyebrows shoot up and his low laughter hit me hard in the belly.
“Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve got?” he teased.
“No, of course not, I just need a—” I’d been about to ask him to give me a moment to recover, but stiffened at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. “Marc,” I hissed.
Oh my God. What the hell had I been doing? Jay could have walked in at any time, or even worse, Kaden.
“I got it.”
He hopped off me easily, scooping his T-shirt from the floor and shrugging it over his head as he walked to the door. He turned while still walking and gave me a disarming grin.
“Take your time, Princess, then come out the front when you’re ready.”
He disappeared down the hall, leaving me staring after him.
It was the first time I ever recalled seeing Marc Romero with a spring in his step.