Dark Sexy Knight (A Modern Fairytale)(35)

She pushed the vase of flowers between them gently to the side and leaned over the table. “Put it on for me?”

He unclasped it, drew it around her neck and fastened it in the back, letting his fingers brush her hot, sensitive skin before sitting back and staring at it nestled in the small valley between her breasts.

“It looks good,” he said, his voice thick.

She fingered it gently. “I love it.”

“Good.”

“Next time, I’ll cook.” Damn it. Too forward. “I mean, if there is a—”

“I hope there’s a next time,” he said smoothly.

“Me too.”

“I have a show tomorrow night, two on Saturday, and the matinee on Sunday. Any chance you want to watch a movie with me on Sunday night? After the show?”

“Here?”

He nodded.

“You know, I’ve never noticed a TV anywhere.”

“That’s because there’s only one. It’s in my room.”

Oh. Ohhhhhh. “Um . . .”

He read her mind and grinned. “A movie, Verity. I’m not going to jump your bones.” He picked up his wineglass and finished the rest of his Merlot. “Unless you ask me to.”

The way he said it was at once adorable and provocative, and made her smile as her breath caught. “We’ll see . . .”

“Yes, we will.”

She stood up, looking down at the table—at their empty plates and wineglasses, the vase of flowers, the still-starched linens. “Let me help you bring some of this inside.”

He shook his head. “Nope. This was my show. I’ll take care of striking it.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” He stood up. “But I’ll walk you to the stairs like a good date.”

“Okay,” she said, her heart beating a mad rhythm as she walked over to the steps that led to the kitchen. She climbed them without looking back, but as she opened the kitchen door, his arm reached over her shoulder to hold it, and her eyes slid to the vein that wound around his muscular arm like a vine. She imagined tracing it with her tongue, and a shiver sailed down her spine as he followed her through the little kitchen into the dark living room. At the foot of the stairs, she stopped and turned around to look at him.

“Thank you for having dinner with me tonight,” he whispered.

She nodded, too nervous, too hopeful, to form words.

Kiss me. Oh God, Colton, please kiss me.

In the moonlight streaming through the living room windows, she saw his jaw clench and his eyes narrow like it hurt to look at her. “You could do better than me, Verity.”

She shook her head as she took a step toward him, closing the distance between them. With every shallow breath her breasts brushed his chest, making her nipples pebble into tight points. She tilted her head back to look up at him and reached for his face, tenderly cupping his tight jaw between her palms. “Even if that’s true, it’s too late. I told you . . . I already like you.”

His arms clamped around her waist, his eyes searching hers fiercely as he pulled her hard against the wall of his body.

“If you don’t want this, say so. Say it now.” A lethal growl. “Say it.”

She stared up at him and said nothing. And then, as her heart fluttered like a wild thing behind her ribs, she deliberately parted her lips and licked them.

Like a starving man suddenly offered a buffet, his mouth came down hard and hungry on hers, one hand sliding up her back, his fingers plunging and threading through her hair to pull back her head. His other arm held her small body tightly to his massive, muscular form—so tightly, she could feel the rigid bulge of his erection against her belly and the rapid swell of his lungs as he devoured her lips.

Her fingers curled, her nails flexing into his cheeks, demanding his closeness. As his lips moved harder on hers, she kissed him back with a welling, rising frenzy of lust that rolled through her body like thunder, heating her up like fever. Low, desperate moans of want, of greed, of inviolable f*cking need to meet her deprivation, rose up from the base of her throat, and he groaned in response, backing her up against the wall behind her and wedging his knee between her legs.

On her tiptoes, she arched her back away from the wall as his tongue swept into her mouth, making hot tears spill over the well of her eyes as her fingers spread and froze, shocked by the intense feeling of his hot velvet tongue sliding slowly, willfully, possessively across hers. Then she gasped, plunging her hands into his hair as he growled into her mouth, the hand around her waist moving to her ass and cupping to shove her forward. Her dress rode up to her hips as she straddled his thigh, the wetness between her legs surely dampening his jeans, her breasts crushed against his chest. Their tongues twisted and tangled, their shared pants of breath a ragged symphony.

She arched again, grinding against him, desperate to quell the throb of need building savagely between her legs. Frustrated that she could find no release, she whimpered, finally letting her head fall back against the wall.

His lips slid from her mouth, along the edge of her jaw, to her throat, to the curve where her neck and shoulder met, and there he rested, his chest heaving into hers as he panted against the bare skin of her shoulder.

“Baby,” he sighed. “Verity.”

Her name was want.

Her name was need.