Black Ice - Anne Stuart [28]
He lifted his head, his eyes glittering down in the darkness. “You like that, Chloe? You could always kiss me back.”
“I—I th-thought we agreed this isn’t a w-wise idea,” she stammered. She decided to blame it on the cold, when in actuality she was beginning to burn inside.
“No, it isn’t,” he agreed, pressing his lips against the curve of her jaw. “But wise ideas are so boring.”
He kissed her harder this time, no longer just a sweet seduction. He was making demands now, demands she wanted to meet.
His hand was on her thigh, moving up under the ruined silk skirt, and his touch was like flame, licking at her. She put her hands down to stop him, but she couldn’t move him. All she could do was press him against her thighs, which was hardly an improvement.
He pulled away again, catching his breath, as she caught hers, and she tried to rein in her fast-departing sanity. “Why are you doing this?” she demanded in a whisper.
“Stupid question. Because I want to. Because I want you. And all you have to do is say ‘no.’ But you’re not going to. Because you want this just as much as I do, no matter what you tell yourself. You want to taste my mouth. You want my hands on you. Don’t you?”
She wanted to deny it, to tell him how delusional he was, how conceited, mistaken, arrogant, wrongheaded…
“Kiss me back, Chloe,” he whispered. And she did.
She liked kissing. Loved kissing, in fact. But with Bastien it was bordering on orgasmic, and he didn’t have to move his hand any higher under her skirt to bring her almost to the point of exploding. All he needed was his mouth—moving, touching, tasting—hers—deeper, harder—and she could feel a dark shiver run from her throat to her womb. She reached out her hands to touch him.
The car came out of nowhere, headlights spearing into the windscreen, horn honking, tires sliding on the narrow road. It narrowly avoided hitting the parked Porsche, and then it drove off. But Chloe had jumped back, from him, from temptation, moving as far away from him as possible.
She wished the light wasn’t on, that she didn’t have to see him. But then, if they were in the dark maybe they wouldn’t have stopped. He was looking at her with a calm, speculative expression, seemingly unmoved by the last few minutes. “If you move any farther you’ll be hanging out the window,” he said.
“Maybe that would be a good idea.”
His smile was faint. “Not in this rain. Sit back and relax. I told you I wouldn’t touch you if you didn’t want me to. All you have to do is say so.”
“I don’t want you to touch me.” It was an out-and-out total lie. Or at least it was a lie of the flesh. Her body wanted him. Longed for him. Her brain still realized how bad he was for her, but it was fighting a hard battle against her melting body.
“If you say so, petite,” he said easily. “Fasten your seat belt.”
If she’d been clumsy from the cold it was nothing compared to how shaken she was now. He watched her fumble, making no effort to help her, as if he wanted to find out just how much he’d managed to disturb her. Finally he reached out and did it for her, his long fingers brushing against her stomach, so that she jumped nervously.
“Not unless you ask, Chloe,” he said in a soothing voice, flicking off the overhead light and putting the car into gear again. The heat had finally come on, at a time when Chloe was already feeling overheated despite her wet clothes, but she didn’t complain.
At least they hadn’t gone any further, though God knew what else she might have given into, if she’d had half a chance. She could still feel the imprint of his hand on her thigh, the long fingers against the soft skin, so unbearably close to the center of her. She needed to drive that from her mind, wipe the taste of his mouth from hers, bring a wall of ice