Take a Hint, Dani Brown (The Brown Sisters #2)(38)
Well. It had been six months without sex, and for Dani, that was rather a while. A little excitement was to be expected. Which explained why, by the time she sailed into Echo and slapped down Zaf’s morning coffee, she was ready to vault over the desk and rip his bodice like a true romance hero.
Until she saw his face.
“Morning,” he said gently, the low gravel of his voice standing out above the familiar whining of passing staff and students. His hair was messier than usual, falling over his forehead like glossy ink, which meant he’d been running his hands through it. His heavy-lidded eyes were cradled by shadows like indigo thumbprints, which meant he’d slept even less than usual, and his golden skin looked pale against the black of his beard.
“Oh no,” Dani blurted.
He blinked, then arched an eyebrow.
Since she couldn’t let the rest of that rogue thought spill out—it ended with mortifying concern, as in, Oh no, are you okay?—she searched for something else to say. After a moment of roiling nerves and surprisingly intense worry, she settled on, “You’re confiscating the dick, aren’t you?”
Because he probably was. He’d been fine, if a little quiet, during their five-minute phone calls last night, but that didn’t mean a thing. People hid their feelings all the time, wrapped them up tight until the pressure turned explosive, and then boom: your self-image was in tatters and you were throwing someone’s clothes out the window in a rubbish bag like Keyshia Cole.
Zaf had probably put the phone down and spent the rest of the night balancing Dani’s many faults with his various romantic ideals, and had decided even the majestic power of her tits (bountiful, obviously) and tongue (long and very flexible, in case anyone was wondering) just wasn’t enough to lead him into joyous sin. He certainly wouldn’t be the first to make a negative worth calculation when it came to Danika Brown. Although, keeping things purely physical was supposed to prevent the outcome of those calculations from actually hurting.
So the hole his dark gaze punched through her chest must have something to do with divine nudges and destiny. Yes, that was it: the fact that her universe-mandated sex buddy didn’t want to be her sex buddy was what had Dani’s mood falling like bird shit—splat—onto the pavement. Oshun really must stop messing her around. Or perhaps this was supposed to be character building? Like fasting was for monks.
“No,” Zaf said, standing up to lean against the security desk. “I’m not—” His lips twitched, and his voice lowered to a pitch that rubbed against her legs like a purring cat. “I’m not confiscating the dick.”
“Oh. Well. Lovely,” Dani babbled, trying not to be too alarmed by the sudden upswing of her spirits. But really, this morning was becoming almost violent in its ups and downs. She felt slightly nauseous and somewhat unsteady on her feet. Which probably had something to do with relief, her clitoris, and abrupt changes to blood flow.
“I do have bad news, though,” Zaf said. Then he took a nice, slow sip of his coffee, because he was, apparently, a professional torturer as well as an ex–rugby player. He really had to stop hiding all these past lives. Friends didn’t keep friends in the dark about their wide and varied special skills.
Which was why Dani would soon be teaching him all about her bedroom expertise.
She was distracted by the rhythmic bob of his Adam’s apple for a few seconds before impatience won out. “What? What’s the bad news?”
Zaf put down his coffee. “Didn’t want to tell you over the phone yesterday, in case you thought I was avoiding you again. But I need a rain check on tonight.” The words were pushed out on a wave of disappointment, as if whatever had caused him to request a delay of their frantic bonking was so unwelcome, he’d barely prevented himself from kicking that thing into the sun. Which went some way toward soothing Dani’s pang of unhappiness.
Although she didn’t know what she could possibly be unhappy about. She’d survived on vibrator-given orgasms this long, and it wasn’t as if she’d been looking forward to spending the evening with Zaf. That would be silly. Especially when she could just call him.
With that fact in mind, she asked calmly, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” A tentative smile teased his mouth. “Things are pretty great, actually. Aside from us not—well. Yeah. Radio Trent want to interview me.”
“What?” Dani felt as if a bulb had been lit inside her and now she was glowing gentle pleasure right through her skin. “That’s wonderful, right? That’s huge!”
“Yep.” Zaf nodded, looking away as if he was embarrassed. His smile was cautious, hopeful, sweet. Something about it punched her in the heart, which was highly uncomfortable and made her ribs ache.
“They want to talk about Tackle It,” Zaf was saying, “and about us, obviously. I really can’t . . .” He paused, his tongue gliding over his tempting lower lip before he reached across the desk and caught her hand. It occurred to her that, for the first time since they’d met, Zaf was completely ignoring his security duties. Usually, when they spoke, his gaze flicked everywhere and he burst out with scowls and orders at random, reminding people to flash their ID. But right now? His eyes were pinned to Dani as his fingers laced through hers, and all that dark, velvet focus sent a thrill racing through her blood, and she felt singularly . . . wanted. Really, really wanted. Her breath rushed out like the tide, and she couldn’t bring it back again.