Grave Phantoms (Roaring Twenties #3)(47)

Mildly disappointed, she shuffled to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel.

His hand reached out before she could start the engine. “I’m sorry this was a terrible date,” he said, curling his hand around hers. His fingers were cool and strong, and she relaxed in his grip, letting him pull her around in the seat to face him.

“It wasn’t a date,” she insisted. “Dates don’t include stabbings. Of that, I’m almost certain.”

One corner of his mouth tipped up. “Makes things more exciting, though. Don’t you think?”

“No, I do not! It was very upsetting. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I can’t even feel it right now, I promise. It’s not the first time I’ve had stitches and won’t be the last.” His palm glided over the sleeve of her coat and rubbed her upper arm, up and down, while he watched her face. She had trouble looking at him when he was this close. She worried he’d be able to read her thoughts through her eyes, and right now those thoughts were dangerously jumbled.

“If this really was our second date, do you think you’d never want to see me again?” he asked. “Would you be sorry you saw me in the speakeasy that night and wish for a man who was less trouble?”

Were they pretending again? Just the thought of it made her pulse galloop. His hand molded the curve of her shoulder and stole beneath the fur collar of her coat. Currents of energy zipped over her skin as he stroked the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck.

“There’s one thing you should understand about me, Mr. Yeung. I am a Magnusson,” she said, trying not to melt into his touch. “We are not easily frightened. In fact, we’re rather stupidly brave.”

He chuckled. His fingers sneaked under the bottom of her bob and traced up the back of her head. She shivered.

“Now that you mention it, I think I’ve heard that about your family.” His words were low and spoken near her cheek. “I’m a bootlegger, too, you know.”

“Is that so?”

His hand ghosted down her back and urged her closer. “We travel in the same circles. God, you smell nice. You always smell so good. I used to think it was that fancy French soap you use, but now I’m sure it’s just the scent of your skin. It’s intoxicating.”

“How do you know what soap I use? I only met you last week, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right. I haven’t been shopping with you about a thousand times, and I don’t remember every brand, color, size, and store you like, do I? So I’ll just assume it’s some bewitching perfume. Let’s pretend you’re wearing some.”

Let’s pretend.

Her heart exploded like a spinning Catherine wheel, shooting off sparks.

“All right,” she whispered. She wanted to touch him. Badly. His shirt collar, too thick for the iron to dry, was still damp. It lay open and partially unbuttoned to expose the cords of his neck, and she could see that he hadn’t put his undershirt back on, nor had he tucked the tails of his shirt into his pants. He looked wild and unkempt. A dangerous rogue. And she couldn’t stop herself from tracing the dip in the center of his clavicle with one thumb.

His nose grazed her ear. The sensations this stirred in her traveled down both arms and through her chest. Her stomach. And lower. She sucked in a fast breath and pressed her thighs together in a poor attempt to stanch the sudden heat gathering between her legs, but that only made things worse.

“Has anyone ever kissed you here?” Bo said, voice barely above a whisper.

Where did he mean? Before she could ask, his lips parted over her ear. He began kissing her there—short, heavy, lingering kisses that rocketed though her body. They were so intense, she wasn’t certain if she could stand it, and her shoulder automatically rose to either push him away or trap him inside the crook of her neck. Undeterred, he sucked her earlobe into his mouth and did something wildly immoral with his tongue.

Stars! Where had he learned to do that? She’d never felt anything so pleasurable. She sucked in a sharp breath and pressed her thighs together again in an attempt to stanch her body’s overexcited response. Terrible idea. That only made things worse.

“Should I try the other side?” he asked in a teasing voice. He didn’t wait for an answer, just trailed openmouthed kisses along her jaw, down the front of her throat where Max had nicked her with the knife hours before, and around to the other ear. She shamelessly bared her neck to give him better access, and he repeated the same slow, erotic maneuver on her other ear, ending with a leisurely lick around the outer shell.

“Good . . . God,” she said between breaths. Was she panting? That might be the cause of her light-headedness. She was only vaguely aware she had balled up the front of his shirt in her fist and couldn’t quite make her fingers release it. One more kiss and she’d slide off the seat, right into the floorboard.

When she opened her eyes and caught a fleeting look between them, she could see that she’d pulled up enough of the fabric to reveal a golden patch of his stomach above his belt, and below that, angled and askew, a substantial bulge in his pants. More than substantial.

“Astrid,” he said on a long exhale against her hair. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long, long time. Would you like to know what else I’ve wanted to do?”

At that point, she lost her mind a little.