only been telling the truth about how much he enjoyed her tasty concoction, he couldn’t deny that he liked the idea of tasting her, as well.
Silence descended. She was waiting for the words—sincere or not—but he didn’t speak. As her breathing became more audible, the electric spark between them intensified, until it seemed like a tangible thing. It enveloped them, shifted back and forth between them, drawing him to her as if with magnetic force.
He knew things were different in this world. In some ways more free, in others more rigid. He also knew he had no right to take anything this woman hadn’t freely offered, in any world.
She might not have said it aloud, but her eyes were offering. Her lips were offering. Her body was offering, considering the way she swayed toward him as if against her will.
So he took.
Without a word, he slid his hands into her thick hair, sending glossy strands tumbling, and dragged her to him for a deep, hungry, chocolate-flavored kiss.
2
HE WAS KISSING HER.
Claire registered that much, accepted the fact that a complete stranger—one who should be in the dictionary defining tall, dark and handsome—had his lips on hers and was, oh, God, plunging his warm, delicious tongue into her mouth.
Then reality left. Just walked out the door, taking a huge chunk of her common sense with it.
She responded. Heaven help her, everything else just faded away and she could focus only on the strength of his magnificent body pressed against hers, and the taste of his mouth.
Chocolate had always been her favorite flavor, but she had never realized that it was missing something, some vital, intrinsic ingredient. Not until now, when she finally got to taste decadent melted Godiva spiced with powerful, devouring man.
She dropped the spoon, hearing it clatter to the floor, as if from a very far distance. Lifting her hands, she put them on his shoulders, while a voice inside screamed at her to push him away. But those traitorous things at the ends of her arms clung to him instead, her fingers digging into the thick muscles as she held tight and kissed him back.
She liked kissing. She loved it, actually. And considering she’d been single for more than a year, she’d missed the intimacy. Especially because this… well, this went beyond anything she’d ever experienced.
Their tongues twirled together, hot and hungry. Time and place fell away and there became nothing but this moment, this man, this kiss. They shared each breath, shared the same space as their bodies melded, her hands going around his neck, one of his dropping to the small of her back to pull her hard against his groin.
She gasped, feeling the rigid erection pressed against her. Part of her leaped for joy, wanting it—wanting that. But the smart, rational Claire, who’d been gagged and shoved in a mental closet for the last ninety seconds, finally came barreling out and screamed Stop!
“No,” she exclaimed, pulling her mouth away. Sanity required her to also take a full step back, ignoring the look of disappointment that appeared on his oh-so-handsome face. That not being far enough, she hopped back another step, colliding with the counter and wincing in pain.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern as he reached for her.
“I’m fine.” She shoved his hand back and ducked away from him, darting around the counter to watch him from the relative safety of the other side.
Safety? Hell, three feet wasn’t a safe distance, not from a man this incredibly alluring.
And dangerous. Don’t forget dangerous. He’s a bad guy, remember? A thug sent here to rough up your kid brother!
Okay, so sometimes even she felt as if Freddy needed a slap upside the head. But no way was she going to let some dude crack his—er, no way would she let the Nutcracker do his thing.
It seemed not only impossible but actually criminal that someone this smooth and sexy should be a criminal. Villains were supposed to be brawny and beastly, like something out of a Disney cartoon, complete with broken noses, crooked or missing teeth, bulging foreheads and tree-trunk-size necks.
Uh-uh. Not this guy.
While he was very tall, with wide shoulders and a broad, rock-hard chest that she could almost still feel pressed against her sensitized body, he wasn’t at all beefy or brawny. He instead looked and felt like the perfect man should. Powerful but lean, muscular but elegant, somehow. He moved almost gracefully, not a lumbering beast, more a prowling predator.
She’d definitely felt stalked as he’d moved close enough to… sample her chocolate.
But it wasn’t just his body that had sucked her brain cells dry and let her kiss a complete stranger. There was also his face. Oh, Lord, that face. He was perfect, been sculpted from marble… His skin was a bit dark, as if he had just come from someplace sunny, or was of Mediterranean—Italian?—descent. The fineness of his brow was accentuated by the widow’s peak that pierced it. His cheekbones were high and autocratic, his cheeks lean, his nose straight and proud, that jaw strong, with a delicious-looking cleft at the bottom. His thick hair was jet-black, short, but wavy and incredibly finger-tempting. And his eyes—those almost intrusive, assessing, deep-set and heavily lashed eyes—were dark brown… like her favorite semisweet confections.
All that and a chocaholic. The man was simply divine.
Ding-ding-ding, hello in there? He wants to hurt your brother. Remember?
She would never let him get close to Freddy. Claire had promised their mother on her deathbed that she would look out for her baby brother. Allowing him to be… de-testicled wouldn’t just be neglecting her responsibilities, it would be unforgivable.
“Now should I offer my apologies?” the sexy stranger asked, his dark eyes gleaming in the soft glow of the overhead lights. Both amusement and awareness shone in those depths, also revealed by the slight uptilting of his soft, sensuous mouth.
I kissed that mouth? I was held by this man?
Impossible. Those kinds of wild, romantic moments happened to other women. To helpless, small, delicate, beautiful women. Not to blunt, responsible, down-to-earth Amazons like Claire Hoffman.
“Only if you’re sincere,” she mumbled, swallowing.
Considering her words were the volume of a mouse’s squeak, she couldn’t say there was much chance she’d get an apology.
“Let me rephrase that. Do I have anything to apologize for?”
Did he? He hadn’t exactly forced her. Yeah, he’d started the kiss, but he hadn’t grabbed her, pushed her up against the refrigerator and ripped her clothes off.
Oh, wow.
Stop, stop, stop!
Angry at her traitorous body, which demanded he do anything but apologize, she dodged the question altogether. “Look, I’m not letting you touch Freddy. Kissing me isn’t going to work any more than threatening me would have.”
