14. Abby
14
ABBY
D ane’s remarkable eyes flare when I say his name, and his jaw tightens with masculine hunger. I soften in his hold, allowing him to cradle my head in his broad palm. My breaths come quick and shallow, as though I’ve been jogging in the humid summer heat rather than standing in the mild, slightly salty breeze coming off the harbor. It caresses my flushed skin, and the dichotomy draws a shiver from me.
“I never want to make you uncomfortable,” he says, easily reading my tumultuous emotions. “But I’ve wanted you for far too long, and I fully intend to claim another kiss by the end of the night.”
I blink up at him, shocked at his fierce declaration and undeniably wet from his confident bearing.
He offers me an arrogant smirk. “I’m glad we’re in agreement.”
My mouth goes dry, and my tongue wets my lips. He follows the nervous gesture with those keen, forest green eyes, and his nostrils flare like a predator that’s caught my scent.
“You’re very self-assured.” I manage a breathy remark.
“And you like that.” His smile tilts into something a touch wicked. “You chose the dark god, Abigail. I know your secret now.”
It takes effort to conjure up a dismissive laugh and a shrug. “You’re making a lot of assumptions. Maybe you’re the one who likes the darker aspects of Addie LaRue. ”
His green eyes spark, and his smile sharpens. “We’re a good match.”
I resist the urge to squirm at his intense scrutiny. He’s looking at me with carnal hunger, and I feel like I might as well be naked before him.
I glance away from his unbearably intent gaze and look out at the park. The shadows are lengthening, and sky has begun to blush a soft shade of pink. I’m hyperaware of the scene, and I imprint the color palette onto my memory so that I can paint it later. Expressing the whirlwind romance of this date on my canvas rather than a cathartic purge of the darkness in my soul will be a welcome respite when I go to my easel tonight.
The quiet between us can’t be described as companionable; the humid air practically sizzles on my skin at the heat that’s building between us. Desire dances along my spine, tiny sparks of arousal that tease and torment me. He draws out each moment of delicious anticipation. I’m immersed in the unnatural vibrancy of our surroundings, and the rest of my attention is completely harnessed by the physical sensations he elicits from my body.
I feel alive in a way I’ve never experienced before, and I crave more.
I’m almost trembling with sensual awareness, as though all of my nerves are hypersensitive. The barest flex of his fingers around mine draws a soft gasp from my chest, and his sexy smirk tilts in response.
Dane is confident to the point of arrogance, but I can’t deny that his cocky smile makes me melt inside. And that confidence is well-deserved, judging by the way I’m drinking him in like the most compelling work of art I’ve ever seen. He’s utterly gorgeous and hypnotically alluring, and it’s more than just his good looks. The air of easy authority I’ve sensed in him draws me in.
I don’t hear you begging yet.
I could easily see myself falling to my knees for this man. Worshipping his perfection like he’s my own personal god.
He lowers his face to mine slowly, his stunning eyes searching mine for silent invitation. When his lips are an inch from mine, he pauses, his heat teasing across my mouth. I’m not sure if he’s allowing me to make the final move, or if he’s relishing toying with me, but his motives don’t matter. I can’t resist the magnetic pull between us, and I arch up to meet him.
His lips are just as soft and sensual as I remember, and he caresses me with a tender kiss, coaxing me to open for him. I soften on a sigh, melting into him. My arms twine around his shoulders for support, and I cling to him as he claims my mouth deeply enough to take my breath away.
My mind begins to spin, and I’m swept up in the delicious heat of his powerful body and the sure, seductive strokes of his tongue against mine.
One broad hand pins my lower back so that I’m pressed tightly against his hard abs. His other eases up my nape, long fingers pressing firmly at the base of my skull. The confident hold makes me flower open for him on a low moan, and his answering growl of desire vibrates through my body.
The masked man’s fierce growl rumbles through me, vibrating all the way to my core. My clit pulses, and my labia are wet with desire. My entire body softens and submits, preparing to accommodate my attacker so that he can slake his lust.
All my muscles lock up tight, and I freeze in Dane’s arms. I’m still melded close to his body, caged by his strong hands.
Desire shudders through me at the sensation of being trapped and helpless.
My stomach lurches, and I jerk away from him. For a fleeting instant, his fingers contract, nipping into my flesh in a punishing hold.
But his grip eases so quickly that I think I must’ve imagined it as part of my perverted fantasy. He allows me to step away and gasp in a breath of salty ocean air.
“What’s wrong?” His low rumble is a touch gravelly this time, roughened by a dark emotion I don’t fully understand. Frustration? Disapproval? Residual lust?
My gaze fixes on the park again. I can’t bear to look at him. He might see some of the sickness in my soul if I allow him to look into my eyes.
“Sorry,” I murmur. “It’s too public here.”
I fumble over the almost-lie. It’s not entirely untrue that I don’t want to have a full panic attack in the park. But Dane will think I’m talking about disliking public displays of affection.
“What if I want people to see?” he counters, his voice dropping to the deep register that seems to thrum through me. “What if I want every man to know that you’re with me?”
Anxiety tightens my muscles, even as my core pulses for him.
Dane clearly likes control, and that prospect intrigues me as much as it scares me. I could so easily melt for this man, but if he realizes how fucked up I really am, he’ll turn from me in disgust. He’s far too cultured and refined to understand the darkest parts of me.
Gathering my wits, I force my lips to curve at the corners. My sunny smile is as fragile as the monarch butterfly that flutters near the gazebo, bright orange wings flashing in a cheery mockery of my own strained expression of false joy.
He lifts my hand and brushes a featherlight kiss over my knuckles. The gesture is almost reverent, and my heart skips a beat. His intense attention is gratifying and more addictive than anything I’ve ever experienced, even though I’m still reeling from the awful flashback of the attack.
“More later,” he promises.
Desire is still pulsing between my legs, and sweat beads on my brow. My stomach churns, a physical manifestation of the sickness inside me. I crave more time with Dane, but I need space to breathe without his alluring scent threading through my senses. The horrific, cloying scent of amber cologne still seems to saturate the air, warring with his.
“I need to go,” I murmur, gesturing weakly at the rapidly setting sun. “I have another early shift tomorrow.”
A muscle barely flutters in his jaw, but it smooths so quickly that I might’ve imagined it.
“All right,” he concedes, even though his eyes are still burning with dark green fire. “But I want you to text me when you get home.”
My brow furrows. “Why?”
He blows out a soft sigh, and that indulgent smile curves his delicious lips. “Is it so difficult to accept that I want to know you’re safe? I want to take care of you, Abigail. Let me.”
My heart tugs with longing. No one has taken care of me in years. Possibly ever, if I examine the truth too closely. I’ve been on my own for so long, resolutely standing on my own two feet. The prospect of leaning on Dane for support is terribly tempting.
“I can take care of myself,” I say, but the assertion isn’t sharp with resentment. I’m touched by his concern, even if I can’t allow myself the moment of weakness. “But thank you for caring about my safety. It’s not even dark yet. I’ll be fine to walk home.”
“I never said you aren’t capable of taking care of yourself,” he replies smoothly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I want to. Trust me, Abigail. I will never hurt you.”
His eyes flash on the last, and I sense the anger churning behind his genteel facade. He’s enraged on my behalf again, just like at the rooftop bar.
Who hurt you?
I glance away from his x-ray gaze, hiding my secrets from him.
Instead of replying to his intense declaration, I focus my attention on my purse and find my phone. My fragile smile is back in place when I look up at him once again.
“What’s your number?”
It can’t hurt to text him when I get home. If he’s worried about me, I can allay that concern.
I tell myself that my decision is more about putting him at ease than fulfilling my own desire to prolong this connection.
But the truth is that I can’t bear the thought of never seeing him again. I’m leaving a date with him for the second time, and I don’t want him to interpret this as a rejection. I just need some time alone to collect myself in the wake of my perverted flashback when he kissed me.
His smile is sharp with something like triumph when he takes my phone and enters his number. He connects a call, and his phone vibrates in his pocket.
He has my number now too.
My belly flips. I crave more time in his addictive presence.
His fingers brush mine as he places my phone back in my waiting hand. The slow slide of his withdrawal is a sensual caress, and my cheeks flush as though he’s swept me up in another scorching kiss.
“I’ll text you,” I promise as my stomach flips again. It’s a slightly queasy sensation this time.
My fingers are itching for my paintbrush. Tumultuous emotions surge within me, making me seasick. I need to purge them at my canvas. Then, maybe I’ll be capable of enduring Dane’s kiss without my trauma ruining the moment.
He offers me a short nod of acknowledgement. “I’m looking forward to it.”
The statement seals my promise; his firm tone brooks no resistance. He’s expecting a message confirming that I’m safe.
His protective instincts soften any irritation I might feel in response to his highhanded manner. I could so easily throw myself into his strong arms and allow him to shield me from all the bad things in the world—including the horrors of my past.
But he can’t change who I am at my core. He can’t protect me from the darkness that lurks in my own soul.
I have to conceal it from him at all costs. If I’m going to see him again, I have to learn to control myself. Dane is a good man, and I want to be good for him too.
I offer him a quick, slightly awkward wave goodbye and force myself to walk away from him. As I put distance between us, I can practically feel the twilight shadow of his imposing frame lengthening behind me, as reluctant to release me as I am to leave him. It makes my skin prickle with residual awareness of his touch.
I take a breath and resolutely ignore the thrilling sensation that he’s still with me, even though I know I left him behind in the park.