Midnight Man (Midnight #1)(14)

“Turn the alarm off,” he said. Her hands were shaking as she punched in the code again to finish the sequence. Only the lobby lights were on as they walked down the dark hallway. Again, he made no sound at all. The only sound was her own shoes, tapping nervously, in time with her own nervous heartbeat.

Her hallway wasn’t long. Before she could gather her senses they were at her door. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out her key, holding it so hard the jagged edges cut into her palm.

Suzanne turned slightly and looked up at him.

Again their eyes met. Held.

She was acutely aware of the fact that they were completely alone in the building.

He was going to kiss her. It was there, in his body language, in the glitter of his eyes, in the tightness of the skin across his suddenly flushed cheekbones.

And she wanted him to kiss her. Her body was telling her clearly what it wanted. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. Her breasts were full and aching, her nipples painfully erect, and she tingled between her legs. He knew it. Those dark eyes saw everything, noted everything.

John’s arms came up and the hairs on the nape of her neck rose. But instead of pulling her into a tight embrace, he rested his large palms on either side of her head against the brick wall and looked down at her.

Neither spoke. John bent his head slowly, eyes on hers, gaze so intent she finally had to close her eyes at the first touch of his mouth to hers.

Soft. His lips were so soft, she thought dreamily. Everything about his face seemed so hard and cold and yet his lips were so warm and soft. Gently, gently, his lips slid over hers, keeping the pressure light. He tasted so good, of chocolate and man and, intriguingly, of the wine they’d had for dinner.

Was that why her head was starting to swim? His mouth opened a little, his tongue glided over her closed lips and she opened her mouth eagerly for a better taste. His mouth lifted, then settled again, still gently. The light behind Suzanne’s closed lids turned golden as her head tilted back slightly. Just enough to offer her mouth more to him.

He kissed the edges of her mouth and her lips curved slowly upwards. Who would have thought that big bad John Huntington, soldier, commando, would turn out to be such a gentle kisser? Her blood wasn’t pounding in her veins anymore with anticipation and sputtering nerves. It was moving slowly through her body like warm honey.

She clutched the lapels of his overcoat, needing to hang on to something, to anchor herself. The material felt soft and warm beneath her fingertips. Just like his mouth.

His mouth moved slowly on hers, the only point in which skin touched skin. He sipped, sucked gently and her own mouth moved languidly under his. She sighed against his mouth in a haze of pleasure and opened her lips further. The soft caress of his tongue against hers electrified her, sending pleasure pulsating throughout her body.

Lazily, Suzanne opened her eyes, expecting him to look as dreamy as she felt. She jolted as she took in his expression.

Not dreamy, not tender. His face was hard, predatory, lips shiny from hers. A muscle twitched over his left cheekbone. His eyes glittered and with a small shock she finally realized what color they were.

The color of gunmetal.

The fierce intensity of his gaze, so strong she felt as if hands were touching her, made her turn her head away, only to receive another shock. His big hands curled whitely against the brick wall on either side of her head. He moved his hand and brick dust drifted down to the floor.

He was clinging to the wall so hard he was gouging holes in the brick.

Suzanne brought her gaze back to his. She’d never encountered anything like this, like him, before. Every cell in her body was pulsing and alive.

That kiss had been gentle, but she had seen with her own eyes the cost to him of keeping it that way. That leashed power aroused her far more than any other man’s kisses had ever done.

She could feel his body heat, coming in waves and overwhelming her. Nothing like this had ever happened to her.

She liked kissing—what woman didn’t?—but it was a minor pleasure, like good food or a new dress. A kiss had never rocked her world before.

If a soft kiss, lips barely touching, a brief meeting of tongues, had her pulsing with desire, what would it be like to be held tightly as his mouth devoured hers? She’d been held tightly by him before, briefly, but long enough to feel the power of his body against hers. She’d been kissed by him, too. Gently.

She wanted to have—had to have both—at the same time. She had to know what it was like to kiss him and have him hold her tight. She wanted to feel that powerful chest against her breasts, wanted to arch against him, rub against him.

A light brief touch of her nipples in the restaurant had set off shock waves inside her. Rubbing tightly against his chest might make the ache go away. This was a degree of passion she had no idea her body could feel. She wanted more. Like a drug addict needing a fix, she stood on tiptoe, touching her mouth to his and closed her eyes.

He had aroused her in the restaurant. Everything about him excited her. His size, that air of danger, his complete…otherness from her. When his big hand touched her breast, she’d nearly jumped in her seat.

She wanted more.

She sometimes kissed a date just outside her door. Very few men made it past her door for a nightcap and even fewer into her bedroom.

Outside the door was a nice place to kiss a man goodnight. If you liked it, you could contemplate taking it a little further. If you didn’t, you just whispered “good night” and slipped into the door.