The Darkest Kiss

'You're…American?' he asked, handing her the papers he'd gathered.

'Yes. Vacationing here to work on my manuscript. Again, not that you asked. I can't place your accent, though.'

'Hungarian,' he said. Well, he'd lived in Budapest for enough centuries to claim the nationality. Quickly he changed the subject back to her. 'So you are a writer?'

'Yes. Well, I hope to be. Wait, that's not right, either. I am a writer, but I'm not published yet.' Stacking her bundle, she nibbled on her lush bottom lip. 'I'm sorry I'm babbling. It's a habit of mine. Just tell me to shut up when you've heard enough from me.'

'I'd love to hear more.' Relief was swimming through him, as potent as the richest wine laced with ambrosia. Finally—a woman who didn't rush away from him as if he were poison.

Blushing again, she smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear.

He watched the action, his cock twitching in response. This woman's hands were exquisite, perhaps the most sensual body part he'd ever seen. Soft, delicate, with white-tipped, square nails. A thick silver chain was linked around her equally exquisite wrist. She wore three rings. Two were simple bands, again silver, and the third was a large iridescent opal.

Married?

He didn't like the thought, but wasn't going to let it sway him. He imagined those hands on his body and could have come.

He had to have her.

Could be Bait. The thought struck him out of habit, because it was something he worried about constantly. He studied her more closely. The freckles spread over her entire face, the lips nearly misshapen by their large size. Probably not Bait, he decided then. Bait was usually gorgeous. Like Ashlyn. Like Anya. Sienna wasn't gorgeous. Not even close. Still, he wasn't going to lower his guard.

Must have her. Now! the demon growled.

Soon…soon…

'You're just being nice,' she said, breaking the silence that had encompassed them. She pushed to her feet, tucking her manuscript under her arm. She was very slim, almost flat-chested.

He stood, loving how small she was compared to him, how his big body dwarfed her. 'Hell, no. I'm nice, but I'm not lying. I want to know everything about you.'

'Really?' she asked hopefully.

'Swear.'

Her clothes were unflattering, dark blue and bagging. He wondered if she wore sexy lingerie underneath. He'd like to see her in emerald-green lace.

'Would you, uh, like to get a coffee or something?' she asked.

'Yes.' Gods, yes.

Slowly she grinned. 'Where?'

That grin affected him soul-deep. He felt its radiance like a punch in the gut. 'Wherever you lead, I'll follow.' He was already hard, but now he was invigorated. He'd charm and flatter her, then give her the best orgasm of her life. Afterward, they'd amicably part ways.

She'd have a night to remember, and his strength would be restored. For the rest of the day, at least. An even trade.

'Come on,' he said. 'We'll find something.' Soon.

They meandered along the walkway, side by side. His awareness of her only grew. She smelled of soap and —he sniffed. Wildflowers. What were her most secret fantasies?

'There's a café just around the corner,' she said.

'Perfect.' A tremble racked him. Weakness or desire? He didn't know, didn't care. Distract yourself. 'What's your manuscript about?'

'Oh.' She waved a hand through the air. 'You don't really want to know, and I'm embarrassed to say.'

'A romance novel, then?'

Her eyes widened and she peered over at him. 'How'd you know?'

'Lucky guess.' He knew women, even if he couldn't get close to any one of them. While most loved all things romantic, they hid their romance novels as if they were something to be ashamed of. They couldn't know that he read them. He loved them, actually, and would have liked a happy ending for himself.

Until the impossible became possible—aka the Titans dressed in tutus and waved their magic wands while dancing and singing about love—he'd just have to make do.

Finally they rounded the corner and the outdoor café came into view. Circular tables and high-backed chairs were lined in front of a large glass window. One was vacant, so they quickly claimed it.

'How long have you been in Greece?' she asked, settling the papers and her purse in her lap.

'A little more than a week, but I've been working.'

'Oh, that's terrible. You haven't had a chance to see the sights, have you?' She propped her elbows on the tabletop and peered over at him, expression rapt. 'Are you here alone or with a group?'

Ignoring her question, he said, 'I'm looking at the best sight right now.' All right, boy. That's getting a little cheesy, even for you. What, you gonna ask her to research the love scenes of her book next? Bring it down a notch.

She blushed once more, though, a pretty pinkening of her freckled skin. His cock throbbed in reaction.

A waitress arrived and they placed their orders. He was surprised when his companion—what had she said her name was?—ordered straight, black coffee. He would have placed money on something sweet. He ordered a double espresso for himself.

When the drinks arrived a few minutes later, he returned his attention to Freckles. She became lovelier by the second, he realized. Underneath the freckles, her skin was a creamy shade of pearl, her eyes now more green than brown.

'Thank you for the coffee,' she said, sipping. She reached over with her free hand to pat his fingers. At the instant of contact, warm, heady tingles raced up his arm—unexpected and as exquisite as she suddenly was.

She gasped. He fought a moan.

'My pleasure,' he answered, arousal building…building…Was it too soon to make a move? Would she run?

'So, you never told me. What are you doing in Greece?' She pulled her hand away, but stared at his as if there were something wrong with it.

'I just felt like traveling,' he lied. Wait. He'd mentioned something about work a bit ago. 'For work. I'm a… model.' It was a lie he'd used time and time again.

'Wow,' she said, obviously distracted. Frowning, she reached out and touched his hand again.

Again, tingles rushed through him. And her, as well, it seemed. She gasped a second time and turned her hand over, studying it. Perhaps now was a good time to make his move, after all.

'I love the feel of your skin.'

Shifting nervously, she looked away. 'Thank you.'

Slowly, so slowly, he claimed her hand and raised it to his mouth. He placed a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist. The warm tingles sparked between them, constant now, and so erotic he was willing to beg her to sleep with him.

When she didn't protest, he licked her pulse.

Gasping, she jerked. Not away from him, but in surprised…delight? He'd never had to wonder before, but couldn't quite read her expression. Couldn't release her, either. Touching her was like touching a live wire, pinning him in place, holding him captive with those electric jolts.

'I never do this,' she said on a catch of breath. 'I never have coffee with strange men or let them kiss me. Especially not male models.'

'But I'm not kissing you.'

'Oh. Well. I just meant—well, I just meant my wrist. You were kissing my wrist.'

'I'd like to kiss you.' He drank her in through the thick fan of his lashes. 'Truly kiss you.'

'Why? Don't get me wrong,' she rushed out. 'I'm glad. But why me?'