Taste for Trouble by Susan Sey Page B

seen, we have a ways to go.”
    “Ah,
Bel. You don’t give yourself enough credit.” He closed the distance between
them with a single bold move, propped his hands on the counter on either side
of her hips and leaned in. “Since you turned up, I’ve been feeling more manly
every minute.”
    She
sucked in a breath but the air had gone hot and dense between them. Every
molecule separating their bodies vibrated with something Bel refused to name. “See?”
she said, and if there was a panicked squeak in her voice she ignored it. “That’s
exactly the kind of thing that was probably cute five years ago. But now?”
    Not
so much , she’d planned to say. It’s
not so cute anymore . But then he leaned in and nuzzled at the hair she’d
tucked behind one ear.
    “Now?”
he asked, his voice low and pleasantly rough, like a cat’s tongue.
    “Now
it’s just—” she began but trailed off. It was hard to form a complete thought with
her entire being focused on the inch of space between that gorgeous, perfect
mouth of his and her earlobe. She must have wanted to say something, but for
the life of her she couldn’t think what it might have been. Couldn’t imagine
why she’d been chit-chatting while he was gearing up to do whatever this was to
her nervous system anyway.
    “Just
what?” He buried his nose in her hair and breathed her in as if she were oxygen
itself. A thrill of pure pleasure shot straight through her. “Because I have to
tell you, I don’t feel cute.”
    “How
do you feel then?” The sound of her own voice shocked her. When had her brain
given her mouth permission to speak? And who had authorized a question like
that? And in that voice? All throaty and kiss me now ?
    Still,
when he drew back to gaze at her with those silver-green eyes alight with lust
and amusement, she stared back and waited for her answer.
    “Do
me a favor?” he said.
    “What?”
    “Shut
up a minute.”
    “Why?”
    “Because
I’m about to show you.”

 
    CHAPTER TEN
     
    “Oh.”
She paused while her sluggish brain connected the dots and arrived at the
startling conclusion that he was about to kiss her. “Oh! No! You should
definitely not do that. I’d prefer it if you just, you know, told me. Or not.” She gave her watch a desperate glance. “Wow, is that the time? I
really ought to get back to—” She broke off, unable to say the word bed with his beautiful mouth two inches from hers and intent emblazoned all over
his pirate’s face.
    He
sighed. “Bel.”
    “What?”
    “Shush.”
    She
frowned at him. “I’m sorry, did you just shush me?”
    “Lord,
you’re making this difficult.”
    She
stared at him. “I’m a difficult woman.”
    “Tell
me about it.”
    “I
just did.”
    He
sighed again but closer this time, close enough that she felt his breath on her
cheek. Her stomach jittered itself right up into her throat.
    He
slid one hand into the hair at the nape of her neck and she froze. Her brain
said calmly you you shouldn’t be
letting him do that at the same time her entire nervous system said Yes,
please .
    “Um,”
she said, her internal gears grinding.
    “Shush,”
he said again.
    A
spike of outrage shot through her at being shushed two times in a row but it
melted immediately into a confused little puddle. Because then he was kissing
her.
    It
occurred to her, vaguely, that she might be in some sort of fugue state. It was
supposed to be kind of like sleepwalking, right? Where you could walk and talk
and interact, but weren’t actually conscious and therefore not responsible for
your actions? Fugue states weren’t at all uncommon, she told herself. She’d
read about them.
    Besides,
she couldn’t think of any other possible reason why she was simply standing
there, in a threadbare robe and a fifteen-year-old t-shirt, letting the man
responsible for the demise of both her job and her wedding kiss her.
    But,
lord, what a kiss. If his mouth looked like perfection, she didn’t even have
words for