Her head whipped up, eyes meeting his, and she stumbled. The edge of the table scraped against the back of her legs.
“No, you don’t.” She shook her head, searching for an explanation for the desire she saw in his look. “You’re just, just—” Francesca braced her hands against the worn plank of wood behind her, then jumped as she touched his hands.
He lowered his head. “I’m just—?”
He was close enough that she could feel the heat emanating from him, surrounding her, enveloping her.
She lifted a hand, putting it to her temple. Trying to think with him so near was almost impossible. He caught her wrist, gently this time, and brought her fingers to his lips. She shivered.
“What am I?” he asked.
“Bad.” She dared a look at his lips on her fingers. “You are a bad man.” Her voice came out in a throaty whisper.
Ethan chuckled, lips curving ever so slowly into a wicked smile. Her insides warmed and turned to mush.
The curve of his sensual lips alone could seduce a woman. She searched quickly for something besides his mouth to focus on and made the mistake of looking into his eyes. The fiery gold flecks embedded in the amber danced with heat, a heat she could feel pouring into her through the touch of his hand on hers and the closeness of their bodies. His touch scorched her.
“Iambad,” he agreed, voice husky and smooth as velvet. He rubbed her fingers over his lips again. “Is that why you like me so much?”
She gasped. “No!” She tried scooting away but only succeeded in jarring her hip against the wooden plank again.
“No, that’s not why you like me so much, or no, there’s another reason you like me?”
His annoying grin widened. Why she had ever thought his lips sensual, she would never know. “I donotlike you.”
He rubbed his thumb along the inside of her palm, and her breath caught. “Yes, you do.”
She did. She really did. She couldn’t help but love him. Weakly, she fought it. “No, I—”
He put his free hand to her mouth, fingers brushing across her lips, silencing her shaky denial.
“Stop arguing and kiss me.”
She shook her head. Appalled. Flustered. Aroused.
He pulled her against him, resting the hand he’d caught in his on his chest. Angling his head so his mouth was inches from hers, he murmured, “Think of it as rehearsal for next week.”
“That’s a bad thing to say,” she whispered. “And there will not be—”
––––––––
“SHH.” HE TOUCHED HISforehead to hers, and she felt his fingers skate down her arm. She shivered. She could sense the tightness and frustration in him and knew he was holding back.
“Then kiss me because you want to or becauseIwant you to. Ineedyou to.”
His gaze never left hers, patient, full of desire. Desire for her. Francesca knew if she said no, he would release her. Allow her to walk away. The feeling that the next move was completely her choice was strangely empowering. She couldchooseto say no. She could leave the field, triumphant.
He pressed her hand more firmly against his chest, and she felt the rapid drum of his heart. It pounded as fiercely as hers. And then, suddenly, there was no longer any choice to be made. She could feel the passion pulsing through him. It flowed into her, overwhelming her. Kissing him would mean surrender, but, oh, what sweet surrender.
With a small shiver of excitement, she leaned forward and kissed him.
