Part 11 (1/2)
She could eat in a restaurant, dance in a club, go to a movie in a crowded theater where the schmuck next to her would steal her armrest. She could fly on a plane. Go to Egypt or Bermuda or Taiwan. She didn't know why she should want to go to Taiwan unless she was picking up a few sweatshop workers, but the fact that she could changed everything. It changed her.
Nate wedged himself against the car door, as far away from her as he could get without leaping into oncoming traffic.
”What are you doing way over there?”
”Recovering from the heart attack you gave me on the pier,” he snapped. ”And trying to figure out how to talk you into going back to the hotel and leaving the jewel thieves to the professionals.”
”I thought I was a suspect,” she purred, scooting across the bench seat toward him. ”Don't you want my confession?”
He leaned away, pressing into the door. ”You aren't a crook. I believe you. Now back off, before you give yourself another seizure.”
Ciara kept her eyes locked on his, slowly shaking her head. ”Nate, for the first time in the last decade, I can touch someone without feeling like someone dropped a cherry bomb into my brain. Do you honestly think I'm not going to take advantage of this for every second it lasts?” She reached out and laid her fingers along his jaw. She listened and the touch sang through her, a perfect pitch ringing sweetly, deep inside her rib cage.
She slid her fingers down, drawing them along the column of his throat, listening as the note s.h.i.+fted with his every breath. Her eyes fixed on his mouth, the delicious masculine curve of it.
Ten years. She hadn't been kissed in ten years.
”Nate,” she whispered. Her upper body leaned forward of its own volition, closing the distance between them. She wet her lips.
”This is a bad idea. I don't think-”
”Don't think. It's overrated.” Ciara's eyelids lowered, but she watched him through her lashes, not wanting to miss a single detail of the kiss. She brushed her lips ever so softly over his, a fleeting whisper of a touch. His breath was warm on her lips. His stubble grazed her fingertips, the tantalizing spice of his aftershave teasing her nose. Ciara pressed a closed-mouth kiss full on his mouth and a chord struck in her soul. She placed one hand over his heart, feeling his strength through the thin cloth of his s.h.i.+rt. She wanted bare flesh under her fingers. She wanted to bathe in touch, skin to skin.
Nate kept his mouth closed, his head back. He was frozen against the door, as if afraid to touch her.
Or as if he didn't want her touch.
Ciara drew back. Her eyes flew wide to find him watching her, his gaze steady and concerned.
”You don't-” She hesitated. c.r.a.p. With her luck, he was probably gay. Just because he seemed like a big strong macho man and gaped at her naked girly bits whenever the opportunity presented itself didn't mean he wasn't batting for the other team. ”You aren't-” She couldn't very well ask him what his s.e.xual orientation was five seconds after she planted one on him.
G.o.d, her people skills sucked. That's what happened when you lived in a freaking bubble for a decade and learned all of your social skills from the television and internet. Had she missed some signal?
He watched her. G.o.d, the way he watched her. It made her feel like she was edible, sweet and sinful, and he was hungry for some decadent indulgence. Would a gay man look at her like that?
But if he wasn't gay, what the h.e.l.l was he doing cowering beside the door like she was molesting him against his will. His body was eerily still, but his eyes raced over her.
”Are you okay?” he asked, an odd urgency running under the words.
Was she okay? She kissed him. He didn't kiss her back. And now he was concerned that...what?
”That didn't hurt you?” His voice was rough.
Ciara blinked, the pieces suddenly jolting into place. Of course. Mr. All-American was concerned for her well-being. His moral fort.i.tude prevented him from enjoying a kiss if it might be hurting her. d.a.m.n moral fort.i.tude. Why couldn't he just take advantage of her like a normal man?
”I'm fine,” she a.s.sured him in a rush. ”Great, actually. It feels amazing.”
”Good.”
Before she had time to react to that guttural growl, his hands were on her arms. He hauled her forward across his lap. His mouth crashed down on hers, urging her to open for him, and a symphony exploded inside her. Ciara threw her arms around his neck and held on tight. She parted her lips and his tongue slipped between them, a whip of heat unfurling in her stomach with each flick.
She didn't remember kisses like this. She remembered the fumbling, groping, wide-open-mouthed attempts of her adolescence, before her curse hit. This was unlike any of those. This was skill and persuasion, seduction and heat. As a fiery concerto radiated out from her soul, a clenching warmth rose up from her toes, tingling along every nerve. Nate's hands chased those tingles and multiplied them, tracing her curves through the thin barrier of her clothes.
He raised his head. His eyes searched hers as they clung together, both breathing rapidly. ”Ciara?”
”More, Nate,” she whispered. ”Please, touch me more.”
He groaned and crushed her to him, instantly obeying. His mouth slanted down on hers and she fell into sensation.
He's no one's hero. She's no one's p.a.w.n. And now they're caught in the crossfire...
Deadlock 2011 Moira Rogers Southern Arcana, Book 3 Abandoned by her wolf s.h.i.+fter father and raised by her human psychic mother, Carmen Mendoza can't deny she's different. She craves things most women shy away from-and she has a trail of shapes.h.i.+fting ex-boyfriends to prove it.
Working at a clinic for supernatural creatures, she's escaped the notice of her father's legacy-obsessed family. Until they need a p.a.w.n in their bid for power. Snared by a vicious spell designed to wake her inner wolf, Carmen's only hope is to trust the one man strong enough to soothe her darkest instincts.
Alec Jacobson was once the heir apparent to the wolves' ruling elite, until he walked away to marry the woman he loved. She paid with her life. Now he lives as a rebel, a black-sheep alpha who protects the supernatural residents of New Orleans from the wolves' barbaric cla.s.s system. Too bad he can't protect himself from his need for Carmen.
Yet staking his claim on his enemy's niece will turn his city into a battleground. Unless he can find a way to stop breaking the rules-and start making them.
Warning: This book contains a renegade alpha wolf, a smart empathic doctor, very dirty s.e.x with psychic safe-words, the occasional dominance game in and out of the bedroom, and a group of supernatural citizens ready to take on the corrupt leaders of their world.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Deadlock: Carmen slowed and spun, walking backwards. ”How long have you lived here?”
”This house?” He slowed too, to a casual amble. ”Bought it...oh, nine or ten years back.”
”And do you do this often?”
”Run? Or chase women through the woods?”
”That's chivalrous of you, to keep pretending you're the one doing the chasing here.”
One eyebrow quirked up. ”You're right. If I were really chasing you, you'd be under me already.”
”Now there's a thought.” She had to get used to the blatant, idle flirtation. She couldn't get aroused every time he said something like that, or she'd be perpetually h.o.r.n.y-and frustrated. ”I meant your obvious role as protector and mentor. Do you have a lot of new wolves beating down your door?”
”A few,” he acknowledged with that infuriating little smile. ”Someone has to take care of them, and I'm good at it.”
And he needed it. She might never hear the admission from his lips, but she felt it plainly. ”Thank you.”
”You're welcome. You're going to trip and break your neck if you keep walking backwards on this path.”
She stopped. ”I was trying not to be rude.”
He jerked his chin toward the path. ”Quarter mile, maybe a little more. There's a nice clearing. I'll give you a ten-second head start.”
The predatory glint in his eyes stole her breath and kicked her heart rate into high gear. ”Head start for what?”
”Before I chase you. For real.”
She had to be crazy to consider it, even if the thought made her body buzz. ”And then what? More dirty talk because you can't sleep with me, but you can sure the h.e.l.l torture me with your eyes and muscles and ridiculously hot voice?”