by Elise Faber
And he would have had to have been inhuman to not love the way his name sounded on her tongue. Maybe that put another tally in the creeper-pervert category, but he was who he was, and the slightly husky tone of her voice as she said his name was the most intense aphrodisiac he’d ever heard.
“Ten feet, love,” he said—not gently, not at all, not this time. He didn’t want more sparks, more fire—at least not for the next ten feet. Instead, he wanted just a little more time with her. So, his tone was coaxing with a dash of fucking hope.
Because she’d already shot back that fire, forgot to be shy with him, so perhaps getting her to agree to go on a date with him wasn’t such a lost cause. But he needed a mix of fire and coax to see if he couldn’t weasel his way in with one date. Plus, if he got one—and this wasn’t him being an asshole, or not trying to be anyway—he’d bet on being able to convince her to give him more than one.
He could be charming. He was smart, had a decent body, could occasionally be funny.
If she gave him one date, then he had a good chance of securing more than that.
So, fewer flames and more persuading now.
An unpleasant thought welled up within him, because unless, of course, she wasn’t attracted to him.
Which would certainly put a damper on his whole plan to win her over.
But he could ponder that later.
In this moment, he needed to take a page out of Billy Madison’s book and get on with the chlorophyll.
“Ten feet,” he cajoled.
She sighed, turned again, and flounced toward her car, that fabric brushing his legs, a silken bite that had him blurting, “Are you not attracted to me?”
Still.
Dani went absolutely still.
And if he were one to congratulate himself on his skills, then he could say that he possessed a unique ability to make this woman freeze in place. As far as life skills went, it wasn’t the greatest, but he supposed he needed to take his victories where he could.
She struggled to ignore him.
She shot back fire.
Now, to get that date.
This time when she spun to face him, shock was written into every line of her face—from her jaw to her lips to a little furrow that he wanted to kiss that had appeared between her brows.
“You’re asking me if I’m attracted to you,” she said slowly.
He nodded. “Yup. That’s the crux of it.”
Laughter filled the air, dancing over his skin, freezing him in place, making him the one playing statue. That clear, hearty sound was fucking glorious, and he wanted to make her laugh again and again.
Of course, he’d prefer if she wasn’t laughing at him.
But he’d learned over the years to take his victories where he could.
And seeing that amusement in her eyes, hearing her delight, that was a fucking victory.
“You . . .” She bent at the waist, the book resting on her hip as she gasped out the laughing words. “Me . . . Attracted . . .” More hilarity.
Okay, as time went on, this was less joyful.
“Dani,” he warned.
She looked up. “You think I’m not attracted to you. To you,” she repeated. “To you!”
Yup, less joyful and more irritating.
“Yes, sweetheart,” he muttered. “I think I made myself clear, don’t you?”
“No.” She tossed up her hands, strode to her car again. “Nothing about this makes sense.” Her words came in a flurry. “You at the library. You asking me out. You thinking that you’re not the absolute most gorgeous man in all the universe, so freaking beautiful and sexy that I’ve fucking fantasized about you for years. I mean, your tattoos, your butt, your abs—”
She clamped a hand over her mouth.
Meanwhile, he was processing.
Processing.
Beautiful and sexy and gorgeous and . . . fantasized?
About him?
“Oh, my God,” she moaned, the words muffled through her hand. She dropped it. “Please, tell me I’m in a horrible dream, that I didn’t actually just say that out loud.”
He couldn’t bite back the smile. “Fortunately, for me, no, we’re not in a dream.”
She pinched herself on the arm. “Ouch!”
Ethan took a step toward her, wanting to grab her hand, to stop her from hurting herself again, but his arms were full of books. “What’d you do that for?” he muttered.
She moaned again, one hand coming to her forehead, the other still clenching the novel at her hip. “Not a dream. Not a dream. Oh God, not a dream.”
“Dani?”
Shaking her head, she whirled around and went directly to her car, yanked at the handle and started to climb inside.
He hotfooted it over to her, managing to slip into the opening before she could slam the door shut. The metal panel collided with his hip. “Didn’t you want your books?” he asked when she didn’t look at him, just slammed the door against his hip once more.
A sigh, her body going still.
Then she released the door.
He crouched. “I like your dress.”
“Books, please,” she said, twisting to hold out her arms, though her eyes were deliberately away from his.
Ethan separated his from the stack then handed hers over.
“Dani?” he asked again.
She spent an inordinate amount of time stacking them on her passenger’s seat.
He waited, had the feeling that he would wait for however long this woman needed. Of course, the alternative was that she run him over or barrel through the parking lot with her driver’s door open.
Though, he supposed, given the weight of the glare she tossed his way, neither of those options was out of the realm of possibility.
“You’re attracted to me?” He set his books on the roof of the car.
She groaned, plunked her head against the steering wheel. “Why?” she moaned, banging it enough times that he finally reached out and captured her shoulders. “Why, God,” she moaned, her eyes sliding closed, “are we still having this conversation?”
He held on to her. Waited.
She peeled back her eyelids, glared at him again. “Did the whole drooling over your abs and tattoo thing not clue you in?”
A smile tugged at his lips.
Another groan.
“What?” he asked, brows drawn together.
“That.” She waved a hand at his face.
“What?” he asked again.
“That,” she muttered. “That smile peeking out at me like it’s the best freaking gift I’ve received all day. It’s just a smile. I shouldn’t like a freaking smile so much.”
“But you do?”
Her eyes sparked, and she sighed heavily. “Do you have an ego problem or something? You need someone to constantly be building it up?”
A shrug. “Better than it being constantly pricked.”
She sighed again, then said, “Why are you tormenting me?”
“Because I have questions.”
Another glare. “Well, I have errands.”
His lips twitched. “Me, too.”
She waited.
“What errands do you have?” he asked.
A muscle pulsed in her jaw, just beneath the edge of the bone, at the top of that kissable expanse of neck. He could almost feel the tremble against his mouth, wanted to dart his tongue out to taste the flicker.
“Dani?” he prompted.
Her fingers clenched on the steering wheel. “Grocery shopping.”
“What else?”
Her shoulders crept up. “Nothing.”
“Sweetheart?”
“Not your—”
“Sweetheart,” he interrupted. “Right. Sorry.”
Her lips pressed flat.
“So, what else?”
There was that pink again.
“What?” he pressed.
“I should go.”
Okay, now his curiosity was seriously peaked. But he was
seeing that this woman was stubborn, that she wouldn’t give in easy. Which, of course, made her all the more interesting, especially considering this was the longest conversation they’d ever had. “What are you buying?”
Her brows drew down, another V forming.
“At the grocery store,” he said, anticipating her query. “What are you picking up? More cold pizza?”
He watched her throat work as she swallowed. But then her chin lifted, her tone growing clipped. “Food, Ethan,” she muttered. “I’m buying food that isn’t pizza.”
“Me, too,” he said. “I’m going to the store to buy food, too.”
This was definitely not a charming exchange, this definitely bordered on inane and nonsensical, and yet . . . he was having a fucking ball.
“And then what?” he asked. “After the food, you’re going . . .”
Silence. Long and drawn out and . . .
That chin lifted again, the amber in her eyes flared with fire. “And,” she snapped, “now we’re circling back to why are we even having this conversation?” Her eyes were on his, not disappearing over his shoulder or sliding down to her hands. Just fierce brown eyes holding his . . . and he fucking wanted her.
Bad.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
Other than the fact he was in deep . . . and loving every minute of it.
“So, you’ll be going?” she asked, the question so expectant that a curl of wickedness coiled through his abdomen, slipping in alongside the need and affection. She might as well have asked, “So you’ll be coming inside me?” for how his body reacted.
He liked her like this—her expression arched, her eyes on his, that shyness slipping away so he could see the fierce woman inside.
He rose to his feet. “You’re right.”
That froze her again, the plump, kissable pillow of her bottom lip separating from the top, a flash of bright white teeth as she scrambled to comprehend his sudden agreement.
As tempting as it was to lean in, to taste that mouth, he gave into wicked.
Well, wicked that wasn’t having him take liberties in the parking lot of a public library.
Smiling, he stepped out of the opening between the door and car, snagged his books, crossed around the front, picked up her books, and crammed himself into the passenger’s seat of the tiny sedan.
Chapter Five
Dani
The click his seat belt startled her out of her shock.
“What—”
Ethan spun toward her, and for a moment, she thought he might tug her into his arms, yank her across the console, and kiss the shit out of her.
She would have liked that, too.
Not that she would have admitted it.
Because even though this man was beyond gorgeous, even though she burned for him, she dreamed and fantasized and touched herself pretending he was hers, that wouldn’t ever be.
He would destroy her.
It was as simple as that.
Despite that, she still wanted him to kiss her, still wanted to feel his body against hers, his hands on her skin, his cock thrusting deep. Throat going dry, her fingers actually cramping with the urge to touch because the thought of him inside her was intoxicating and dangerous when this man was so close—close enough that her pussy throbbed, that her nerves were on fire, that—
He didn’t kiss her.
He just set the stack of books on the back seat and faced forward again. Then calmly asked, “Would you like me to drive instead?”
“Wh-what?”
His hand came down on top of hers, squeezing lightly where it rested on the steering wheel. “Are you okay?”
Such an absurd question, she thought.
Of course, she wasn’t okay.
She was nowhere even near it, and how could she be when this man was so close, the spicy scent of him filling her car. She could smell the mint of his toothpaste on his breath, and it mixed with the tang of pine, the faintly biting, briny notes of the ocean. His smell made her want to move closer, to forget about him tugging her over the console and instead, to climb over it herself, to straddle his hips and—
“Whatcha thinking?” he asked, his fingers squeezing hers lightly.
And that little convulsion, the warm, rough hand engulfing hers . . . well, it had the last of her filter dissipating like so much smoke.
Which was the only reason she could account for later for why she just straight up blurted, “How much I want to fuck you.”
The air in the car went taut.
“What did you say?”
She was horrified, slowly dying inside, that death agonizing, a painful millimeter-by-millimeter creep until she had to physically stop herself from yanking open the door and running screaming through the parking lot.
It was her car, for God’s sake!
“You should go,” she whispered.
He didn’t move, except to squeeze her hand again, to unwind it from the steering wheel and bring it across the console.
“Eth—”
Her palm suddenly made contact with a hard cock . . . with his cock. Her fingers involuntary clenched, and he groaned.
“Dani?” he gritted.
“Yeah?” she breathed, her hand starting to move.
“I want to fuck you, too.”
Her throat seized. “I’m seeing that,” she forced out.
“But,” he said, gently peeling her hand away and lifting it to his mouth. The bristles of his beard tickled her palm, his tongue a hot brand. “I’d like to get to know you a little better first, okay?”
She was feeling a little dazed, and her words were equally as stupefied. “By grocery shopping?”
“Yup.” He smiled.
Her brain short-circuited. The sun was shining through the window, gilding his skin, bringing out a lighter blond, almost red undertone in his hair. His teeth were bright white, though she knew that the one, two right of center, was fake. He’d been hit in the mouth with a stick during the playoffs last season, and even through the mouth guard he wore, his tooth had been knocked out. Instead of doing what any sane person who’d just lost a tooth would have done, he’d played the remainder of the game and the double-overtime periods (during which he’d also scored the game-winning goal, NBD). But anyway, by the time a dentist had been able to get a look at him, it had been too late to save the tooth.
So, a fake one.
Which was a mental tangent she shouldn’t be going down right at this moment, with Ethan in her car, smiling at her, saying that he wanted to go grocery shopping with her of all things.
But the things she should be doing didn’t always factor in with what her mouth did.
Case in point, that instant.
“Did it hurt?” she asked.
His smile drifted away slowly, like a cloud floating across the sky, the wind morphing its shape, flattening it on one corner, dragging it up on the other . . . and then she blinked. Or maybe like when she’d been a kid staring up at the clouds, finding creatures and telling stories in the white wisps trailing over the cerulean blue, the sun got into her eyes, making her squint, and all of a sudden, the story was gone, the smile flattened.
But the potential of a new saga could be found in its place.
Fingers on her cheek. The lightest brush of his thumb across her cheek.
“Grocery shopping?” he murmured.
Her lips curved. “Your tooth.”
That pulled his hand from her skin, his pointer finger tapping the fake tooth. “Yeah,” he said. “It really fucking hurt.”
Dani raised her brows, surprise a tiny bolt of lightning zigzagging across her spine. “It did?”
His smile returned, and she found herself searching the lines, the bristles of hair surrounding it, the pink lips, the flash of white teeth for a different story . . . and found it, she supposed. She’d expected a macho reply, something about it not hurting because he was a big, tough hockey player who could take pucks to the body, sticks to the face, checks into the b
oards, and regardless of blood or bruises or teeth falling out, he got right back up, hopped straight onto the ice for his next shift.
“Yeah, it did,” he said, his gray eyes flickering with amusement.
“Oh.”
Silence. Then a light tap to her temple. “It looks like you have more questions in that big, juicy brain of yours.”
Nope.
The questions had all flitted away to subspace, twinkling along with the stars, pretty, but impossible to grab on to.
“That’s your nickname.”
His smile was a physical gut punch. “You pay attention.”
Mutely, she shook her head.
“No?”
“You just talk a lot.”
He froze, and then his laughter filled the car, filled her, made her unstick or perhaps become somehow even more entranced, because she was absolutely rapt by everything this man did—the way his throat worked as he chuckled, his big, scarred hands clenching on his thighs, that mouth tempting as it curved.
More silence. Another brush of his thumb on her cheek. “Should we get on with the painful adventure known as grocery shopping?”
“You don’t have bags,” she said.
To his credit, he didn’t misunderstand about the local law that charged for using anything that wasn’t a reusable bag in stores, instead he just shrugged. “I’ll buy some.”
Her lips parted as she mentally searched for a way to get him out of her car. Mostly because she wanted him so much, and that made him dangerous for her sanity and the well-being of her very jaded heart. “That seems very wasteful.”
“Unless you have some I can borrow?”
She didn’t. She’d brought the precise number of bags she would need for her weekly trip for junk food with the odd vegetable thrown in. Probably, she could lose a few pounds if she ate more of the latter and less of the former, but she didn’t care.
Once upon a time she had cared, and that had been disastrous for her mental health.
Now, she ate her fucking Oreos and didn’t give a damn if her jeans weren’t a size zero.
Instead of getting into her whole woman-hear-her-roar situation, Dani just simply said, “No.”
For some reason, that made his lips twitch.
“Why don’t you have any?” she felt obliged to ask.
