Was Hector surprised by the elegance? Had he envisioned something more hedonistic? Something more exclusive? This wasn’t the choicest location in the city, but it was close to Ava. To Noelle, that made it the best.
“Well,” she said, turning to face him, splaying her arms. “What do you think?”
“I think this is where God would move if he could afford it.”
As tall and thickly muscled as Hector was, encircled by such delicate, expensive things, he should have looked out of place. Plus, his dress shirt was wrinkled, and there was a dirt smudge on his pants. Dried mud caked the bottom of his shoes. But out of place? No. He was wild and wicked, the dark knight willing to do anything to slay his damsel’s dragons.
And those tattoos of his … How had she dismissed them so easily after their first meeting? How had she never considered such markings attractive until him? Because damn. They were little roadways for her tongue to follow, swirling and dipping, up and down, tempting, luring.
A shiver slid down her spine. “I’m glad you like it.”
A shadow of amusement before those amber eyes frosted over, an ice storm churning inside them. The change was reminiscent of his last rejection of her, and she braced herself for another.
“I should go,” he said, but didn’t move.
“Or you could stay.” She’d wondered what she would risk to be with him. Right now the word “anything” popped in her mind.
He drew in a breath. “What is it you want from me, Noelle?”
His secrets, his body, and his slavish devotion. For starters. Things he wasn’t yet ready to hear. “I want you to have dinner with me tomorrow tonight.” Innocent, easy.
“Why? I told you I was dangerous.”
“I know, but I still want you.” Putting yourself out there again, girlie. Probably not wise.
I know. And she would have backed off if he hadn’t shown her that glimpse of jealousy earlier. If he hadn’t looked at her as if he wanted to eat her rather than the food. If he hadn’t searched her home so diligently and eyed her bed so hungrily.
Even though the frost melted, the storm remained, turbulent and troubled. “That’s a very bad idea.”
“Hello, all the fun things are.”
“Noelle—”
“How about this? I promise not to f**k you on the table, and you promise to enjoy yourself anyway.” Role reversal. A direct hit every time. Not to mention the fact that she’d just insulted his masculine pride.
“Fine,” he snapped. “Dinner. Together. Tomorrow night.”
“Your enthusiasm is heartwarming. Truly.” She didn’t change course, though. Dinner wasn’t meant to romance him, wasn’t even meant to relax him. Though that would happen, too. Hopefully. Dinner was simply her way of learning about him.
Why he used hookers—and when he’d last screwed one. Why he refused to date. Why he thought he was too dangerous for Noelle to kiss. What, exactly, he craved doing to her.
Hector scrubbed a hand through his hair, an action she figured was habit. From nerves? Or desire? Please be desire. She studied his face. The hard pinch of his lips, the slits of his eyes. Desire, yes, but he was still fighting it.
Noelle closed the distance between them. He straightened from the jamb, stiffened, but he didn’t try to prolong the separation. Practically purring, she placed her hands on those wide, strong shoulders.
His nostrils flared as he breathed. Deeply, harshly. “What are you doing, Noelle?”
Another step closer brought her br**sts into contact with his chest. Immediately her ni**les budded, rasping against his shirt just the way she liked. “I’m having a very stimulating conversation with you.”
His muscles twitched underneath her palms, heat radiating from him in a continuous stream. “Talk to me from across the room.”
“Why? Do I bother you when I’m this close to you?”
“A little,” he admitted. “Why?”
He seemed to brace himself for … something. Rejection, perhaps. “I told you I only … mess around with hookers. You shouldn’t want me.”
“But I do.”
A low growl rumbled from him. “I kissed you and told you we could never do anything like that again, that I’m too dangerous for you. You really shouldn’t want me.”
“But I do,” she repeated. “And you want me. You were hard for me before, and you can’t deny it.” She arched forward, brushing against that delicious place between his legs. “You’re hard for me now.”
His nostrils flared. “I … I …”
“Don’t lie to me, and don’t run from me. You hurt my feelings when you do.”
He softened, but only slightly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then tell me why you only mess around with hookers, and why you are too dangerous to be with me. And what does mess around mean?”
They stood like that, touching, but not doing what they both wanted—grinding—for several long, silent minutes. His scent thickened around her, enveloped her, became a part of her, the heat of him intensifying.
“I don’t like to talk about it,” he finally said.
“Do it anyway.”
“Actually, I never talk about it.”
And yet he had with her. Before, at camp, and then again today. “Do it anyway,” she repeated. “You almost did at the church. You almost did in the car.”
His teeth gnashed together. “Both times, I stopped myself. I don’t trust you enough.”
Ouch. There was no arguing with that. Still, male pride might once again come to her rescue. “Do you like to do kinky, embarrassing things, and that’s why you won’t be with a girl like me?” She’d meant to sound flippant, or even suggestive, but the pain just kind of seeped out of her.
A girl like me. Never good enough.
Sheer, absolute longing painted the harshness of his features. “Sweetheart, I’d be happy with straight-up missionary with you.”
Her eyes widened with surprise. The way he’d said “missionary,” as if he’d never wanted anything more, well, she nearly stripped then and there. Permission first, then the shedding of clothing.
“Then don’t be a pu**y,” she said to goad him. “Do something with me.”
He was the one to step closer this time, and there was so much menace in his eyes she found herself backing away, despite the intensity of her desire for him. But he kept coming, until her knees hit the back of the bed and she fell to the mattress. His legs imprisoned her knees, halting any retreat she might have made.