Razed (Barnes Brothers #2)(54)

“Yeah?” All he did was cock his head and study her. “Why?”

She sipped at her wine, feeling a little self-conscious now. “Hard to explain.” Lowering her glass to the table, she shot him a look and shrugged. “It was one of the last movies I saw with my dad before he died. I mean, they were crazy and all, but they were . . . happy. They loved each other. Gomez and Morticia . . .”

“One of the greatest romances in all of Hollywood.” He smiled, looking amused.

Cocking an eyebrow, she said, “Make fun and I won’t help you with the dishes.”

He pushed his chair back and came around to kneel down next to her. “You’re not helping me anyway. But I won’t make fun. I like the movie, too. The first one was the best, if you ask me.” He pushed her chair out and then dipped his head, lowered his lips to kiss her knee. “I took Italian because of that movie.”

Well, damn. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” He slid a hand up her thigh, his fingers toying with the hem of her skirt. “Cara mia . . .”

Something hot and liquid spread through her as he leaned in and murmured to her in a language that secretly turned her into mush. That was another reason—one of her early movie crushes had been none other than Gomez. So she was weird. So what?

As Zane caught her ear between his teeth and tugged, she shivered.

Then he whispered, “Ti voglio piú di quanto abbia mai voluto un’altra donna.”

She curled her hands into fists while her mind struggled to translate. She thought maybe he told her he wanted her. Maybe. But he could have been reading a grocery list for all she cared. “That sounds a little too practiced to be your typical high school language requirement.”

“I didn’t just speak it in high school.” He kissed his way across her cheek, slanted his mouth over hers.

For the next few seconds, nothing else in the world seemed to matter. His tongue caught hers, toyed, tangled, while his hands slid under the hem of her short, tight skirt and moved up to trace the edge of her panties. Liquid heat spread through her and if he hadn’t kept her knees pinned in place with his body weight, she thought she might have wrapped herself around him like a vine and started to rock in sheer, desperate hunger.

His hand rested on her side and he slid it up.

Yes, please!

But all he did was move it up to rest on her throat, easing back.

“I spent a year in Italy. A year in France.”

She blinked up at him, confused for a minute. Then, slitting her eyes, she leaned back. “You’ve been to Italy.”

“Yeah.” He brushed his thumb over her lips. “It’s beautiful.”

“I think I hate you.”

He chuckled. “Now, don’t say that . . .”

He caught her mouth again, nibbling her upper lip, then her lower one, until she sighed in longing, opening for him. When he tried to pull away this time, she caught his head and pulled him back to her. He growled, hungrily, against her lips, taking her mouth with a harsh, deep hunger that left her panting.

Then he was gone.

Bemused, she stared at him as he started to clear the dishes.

“Have you ever been out of the country?” he asked, his tone conversational as he stacked up their plates, carrying them with a dexterity that left her eying him with more than a little consternation.

“You look like you’ve waited a few tables in your day.”

“I have.” He winked at her. “In Italy. And you didn’t answer me.”

Sticking out her tongue at him, she gathered up the rest of the dishes, just a few pieces of silverware and the napkins, following him to the sink. But when she tried to help, he caught her by the waist and lifted her onto the counter. “No. You’re not helping,” he said. “Unless you want to help like this.”

He poured her another glass of wine and pushed it into her hand.

“How is that helping?” she asked, staring at the wine for a minute before looking at him.

“Hate to waste it, right? I can’t have more than a glass of red wine or it gives me a headache.”

She snorted and took a sip. “Yeah. I’ve thought about it. I just . . .” She shrugged and looked away. “Never have.”

For a minute, the sound of running water filled the room. He didn’t say anything until he started to wash the dishes, and when he did speak, his voice was soft. “I’ve thought about a lot of things. For a long time. Put them off for too long. Sometimes waiting only makes it harder.”

“Don’t I know it,” she muttered.

But it didn’t matter. There were some things she’d never do. Not because she didn’t want to. She wasn’t going to explain all of that to Zane, though.


*

Zane wondered if she knew how much those eyes of hers showed.

Most people probably didn’t see the secrets.

Zane looked for secrets, though.

Studied them, even.

Hers were sad ones, painful ones.

One of these days, he hoped she’d share them, but he wasn’t going to push her on it. Not yet.

After he’d finished with the dishes, he dried his hands and moved to stand in front of her. She was still toying with her wine and he reached out, took the glass. He sipped at it, put it down. “You ready to go home or did you want to stay longer?”