Take Your Time (Boston Love #4)(22)
“Gotcha,” he mutters victoriously, flexing his grip like a cat playing with the mouse between his paws. “Any last words?”
My chest heaves beneath his hold. I couldn’t answer him, even if I wanted to. My pulse is pounding like a war drum as his face ducks down to the exposed slope of my shoulder. Nudging his still-sticky nose against my bare skin, he wipes the residual syrup in a streak across my thumping jugular vein. I try to laugh but, for some unfathomable reason, it comes out sounding more like a squeak of fear.
“Delilah,” he growls against the hollow beneath my ear. His voice is thrumming with dark delight. I hear the pop of a cap — the syrup bottle opening — and begin to struggle in his hold.
“Noooooo! Don’t you dare!” I plead, breathless with laughter and other emotions I really don’t care to define too closely. “You let me go right this minute, Luca Buchanan!”
A dark chuckle vibrates in my ear.
“Apologize, and maybe I’ll let you go.” His free hand, the one not wrapped around my midsection tighter than a bungee jumping harness, brings the syrup bottle into my line of sight. “Or don’t… and face the consequences…” He raises the open bottle menacingly, until it’s poised over my face. One tilt of his hand, and I’ll be a sticky mess.
“Fine,” I hiss, eyes locked on the gaping mouth of the bottle, where syrup threatens to flow. “I’m sorry…”
Hearing my admission, Luca’s hold loosens fractionally. He thinks I’m giving up. Little does he know, I’m never one to admit defeat, nor am I about to pass up the prime opportunity for escape he’s just given me.
In a single fluid motion, I strike an elbow sharply into his ribs, then let my body go totally limp and duck out of his grip before he can react — a move I learned in a self-defense class I took last year, mainly because I thought it would help me meet cute guys. It’s nice to know I actually got more than a few phone numbers out of the experience.
My Krav Maga instructor would be so proud.
Crowing with victory, I bounce from cushion to cushion like a kid playing a round of The Floor is Lava. With a massive leap, I hit the ground running and race for the bathroom like my life depends on it. (To be fair, it probably does.)
Thrilled by my escape, I can’t help taunting him a bit.
“I’m sorry all right…sorry you’re such a sucker!” I yell over my shoulder.
I hear his answering roar, the sound of his feet hitting the hardwood as he dives off the couch and races to catch up with me. Grinning like a total maniac, I keep my eyes fixed on the bathroom door, on escape, determined to beat him there, running as fast as I can to evade him…
He’s faster.
I’m nearly there when he grabs hold of me again. The syrup’s disappeared at some point in the shuffle; both his hands clamp onto my shoulders and he spins me around to face him, dangerously close. His eyes are brimming over with humor and so much heat, I feel my breath catch in my throat at the sight.
“You like playing games, Delilah?” he rumbles, looking down at me.
“I…” I can barely breathe, let alone form words with him standing this close, looking at me like that. “I…”
He grins — a slow, sinful smile — and I stop breathing altogether.
“Happy to play with you, babe, but you should know…” His voice drops to a whisper. “I’m very competitive.”
His head lowers toward mine and I know, down to the marrow of my bones, that he’s about to screw everything up royally. That he’s about to cross an irrevocable line of demarcation. That, after this moment, nothing between us will ever be the same.
Because he’s going to kiss me.
And, worse…
I’m not going to do a damn thing to stop him.
Everything inside me is screaming to pull away, to turn my cheek, to run for the hills and never look back. And yet, I can’t seem to move. In fact, I can’t seem to do anything at all, except watch Luca’s lips closing in on mine, until we’re a hairsbreadth away. Close enough to bump noses.
The pulse is roaring so loud between my ears, as I wait for him to erase that final bit of distance, it takes me a minute to register the sound of his front door swinging open, and the man’s voice that shatters the tense moment like a gunshot.
“Bad time, Blaze?”
I spring away from Luca faster than a kid caught red-handed stealing cookies from the cooling rack. Cheeks flaming, I turn to see a towering, attractive man standing in the threshold, his eyes moving between me and Luca with a look of baffled intrigue. He runs a hand through his sun-streaked surfer-boy locks, smiling as he steps fully inside.
“There’s a joke to be made here about a maid… in the kitchen… with the candlestick.” He smirks, gesturing at me as he addresses Luca. “I’m guessing there’s a story to go along with her. Unless you’ve got the rest of the suspects from Clue hiding out in the bathroom.” He makes a big show of glancing around the apartment. “Professor Plum? Colonel Mustard? You guys here, too?”
“Colt,” Luca mutters, sounding distinctly pissed. “Ever heard of calling before coming by?”
“Wasn’t expecting you to have company at this hour.” The blond grins, entirely pleased with himself. Crossing toward me, he stops about a foot away and sticks out a hand for me to shake.