Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)(9)

*

A flicker of sadness passed through his blue eyes as she lifted the glass. In that bare second, everything that had unfurled between eighteen years ago and today jabbed at her, like sharp little needles prickling her skin. Her fingers itched to run through his hair, to offer a reassuring touch, something that showed she understood what was unsaid. She resisted the impulse, not knowing how it would be taken, and afraid, too, of how it would feel. Good or bad.

“à la présente,” she said in her native language, then quickly translated, “To the present.”

“To the present,” he repeated.

As he took a long swallow of his drink, she studied him. By nature she was an observer, and she catalogued the details—his lips on the glass, full, curved, and kissable; his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he drank; his strong, sturdy fingers on the stemware. Then, the bend of his wrist, the cuffs of his sleeves rolled up twice, revealing his forearms.

Muscular and corded.

Hot as f*ck.

God, why were forearms so delicious? But she knew the answer. They spelled strength and power, and the ability for a man to anchor himself over a woman as he took her.

She slid her eyes away from him, trying to chase off her own dirty thoughts.

He set down his glass on the counter. “You said work brought you to town, that you’re shooting the catalogue all over the city. Are you enjoying it?”

“Immensely,” she said with a nod. “The models are beautiful, the locations are playful, and the lingerie is, as you say, to die for.”

His eyes flashed with mischief as he made a noise of approval. “Big fan of lingerie myself.”

“That so? Something you want to tell me?” she said, coyness coloring her tone as they bantered, so much that it filled her with an effervescence that rivaled the champagne’s effect.

“Very funny.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I meant…on women.”

That buzzing intensified. This was chemistry. This was the electricity in the air before a storm. She was wrong about him being a safe choice for her first time out in years.

Now that she was centimeters rather than an ocean away, she was intensely aware of how not-safe he was.

She threw caution to the wind. “Anything in particular when it comes to lingerie? Baby-dolls? Corsets? Garters? Hip-huggers? Bikinis? Cheektinis? Stockings? Bikini briefs? Boy-cut shorts? Thongs?” she said with the speed of a freight train, rattling off anything and everything silky that hugged a woman’s bare flesh.

His lips quirked up as he took a drink. “That one,” he said dryly, tapping the air with his index finger.

“Which one, Michael?”

He made a rolling gesture with his hand. “All of them. Every. Single. One.” Then he scratched his chin. “Question, though. What on earth is a cheektini?”

Annalise lowered her arm to her hip, shifted her pose, and drew a line mid-cheek across the denim of her jeans. “They go right here.”

Heat flashed in his gaze as he stared at her ass. “Right there, you say?”

“Yes.” She traced the line once more across her rear. “The panties cut across, so your cheeks…” She paused, searching for the right words in English. “They hang out?”

He nodded his understanding, his eyes on her the whole time, darkening. She hadn’t expected the intensity of his stare. Nor had she expected the rush it sent through her. It had been so long since she’d felt like this. “Yes. And the one I’m wearing right now is red with lace trim.”

She shocked herself when she said that. She hadn’t expected to be so bold. But it felt easy, and right, and so damn good.

Perhaps she’d surprised him, too, because he licked his lips, then groaned softly as he uttered, “Red.”

Like it had six syllables. Like it was the sexiest word in the world.

Before the conversation could turn naughtier, the music shifted, and the lead singer tapped the microphone, said hello, and launched into the first song.

“More champagne and then we go stage-dive?”

“Absolutely. Let’s start a mosh pit.”

They did neither, but a few minutes later, they were watching the band, listening to the music, and drinking another round. Someone bumped into Annalise, and she moved closer to Michael. Before she knew it, they were shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip, swaying to the music.

By the time the band finished, they’d polished off another glass or two. The buzz was headier, and so was the intoxication from the music, the low lights, the energy, and this whole night that felt like a cocoon of possibility.

She wiped a hand over her brow. The club was hot.

“Let’s step outside,” he said. “Where it’s cooler.”

She nodded, and once again, his hand was on her back. He guided her to the tall glass doors that spilled onto a terrace attached to the club. As he opened the door, he reached for her hand, holding it as they walked to a bench and sat down. Groups of club-goers were scattered at nearby tables.

He traced her palm lightly with the pad of his thumb, and her heart sped up. That barest touch was bursting with heat. Electricity flared between them. They could power the lights at this club, the billboards down the street. She barely understood how it was possible to be like this with someone she hadn’t seen since that unexpected and heartbreaking day when they were both twenty-four. She’d been going one way in life; he’d been heading in another. Seeing him then had been as close as she’d ever come to the fire of temptation. She hadn’t given in.