Tangled Games (Dating Games #5) - T.K. Leigh Page 0,1
through me, leaving me mindless, breathless…and perhaps a bit reckless.
When he lifts his hand, my heart hammers in my chest, the hairs on my nape standing on end. I moisten my lips as I brace to feel his skin against mine. His body against mine. His anything against mine.
Instead, he gingerly takes the book from my hand. Disappointment ripples inside me. It lasts less than a second before he grips my hip, harsh and invigorating. A gasp tumbles from my mouth when he yanks my body against his. I barely have time to register what’s happening as his other hand burrows into my strawberry blonde waves. This is all surreal, like I’m in the presence of Maxim de Winter himself, my deepest fantasy coming to life in the aisle of a Manhattan bookstore.
With unhurried movements, his lips descend toward mine. Each prolonged second is excruciating, ratcheting up my desire to a smoldering level, burning through me.
“‘If only there could be an invention that bottled up a memory,’” he murmurs in a husky voice, his breath caressing my mouth.
“And now you’ve quoted yet another one of my favorite lines from Rebecca. Start quoting Lady Chatterley’s Lover and we’ll have to find somewhere more…private.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Is that a promise?”
I eye him. There’s no way he’s read that book. Or if, by some fluke, he has, he won’t be familiar enough with it to pull a quote out of thin air.
With a slight nod, I murmur, “It is.”
“Well then…” He adjusts his stance, his arousal pushing against my abdomen, his lips skimming my neck. “‘I believe in having a good heart, a chirpy penis, a lively intelligence, and the courage to say shit in front of a lady.’”
I burst out laughing. The sound carries through the aisles, attracting several curious stares, but only for a heartbeat. It’s one of the things that drew me to Manhattan in the first place.
Here, no one cares about anyone besides themselves.
Here, I can disappear into the background.
Here, I can be a nobody.
But I don’t feel like that right now. Not with the intensity in this man’s gaze.
“Why did I have a feeling you’d quote that particular line?” I muse.
“I’ve been carrying that gem around in my back pocket for ages, waiting for the perfect opportunity to woo a beautiful woman perusing the Literary Classics section of a bookstore.”
“If that was your game plan, the odds were stacked against you.”
“Perhaps.” He shrugs slightly, his eyes dancing with amusement. “But it worked on you, didn’t it?”
“Jury’s still out.”
His expression darkens once more. “I suppose I need to figure out another way to woo you then.”
“And what would that be?”
He crashes his lips to mine, the kiss surprising, yet addictive.
I stiffen, taken aback by his forwardness, especially in such a public place. But that’s short-lived, a burning lust for more making me blind to everything else.
This is one of the most spontaneous things I’ve done in quite some time. I’ve never been one for overt displays of affection. At least not in places that are so…public. A busy Manhattan bookstore is the definition of public. But that doesn’t bother me right now.
And it obviously doesn’t bother him, either.
Instead of pulling away at the sound of nearby whispers and snickers, he deepens the kiss, his hand on my waist steering me down the aisle until my back comes into contact with the wall.
He moves his hips, his erection grinding against me. A low groan rumbles from his throat as I dig my hands into his thick hair that’s a cacophony of shades, from brown to copper and even a few hints of blond at the ends.
When he tears away, our ragged breathing pervades the space between us. “Let’s get out of here.”
“And where shall we go?” I zero in on his plump lips that shine with the remnants of my gloss.
“Somewhere more private.”
I arch a brow. “Private?”
With a slow nod, he lowers his mouth toward my neck. His breath on my skin is intoxicating, causing a pleasurable ache to build deep within me. One I doubt will be satisfied until I have him.
All of him.
“Yes, gorgeous.” His lips skim against the sensitive flesh where my neck meets my shoulder. “Somewhere I can take my time indulging in every single inch of you.” He nibbles my earlobe, eliciting a whimper from me, one as innate and uncontrollable as breathing. “Where I can make you scream without having to worry who will overhear.”
Needing to maintain some semblance