Clare and Present Danger Ch. 02

You feel the cold air wash over you as you walk through the door. Nick holds it open for you and you can feel his eyes on the back of your neck, along your spine, and then your bottom. You deliberately allow your hips to sway as you move down the steps to the sidewalk. As you stop in the warm yellow of the streetlight, you regret your flirtatious response, rebuking the part of you that wants him to find you sexy, so you defensively wrap your arms around yourself and look over your right shoulder to see if he's following.

He is.

He places his hand firmly between your shoulder blades, then slides it to your low back and says, "Cold?" His voice is mocking.

You're momentarily confused, arms falling to your sides. You shiver and feel your nipples draw to an even tighter pucker. It is cold, but his firmly planted hand seems to burn into your skin through your t-shirt and the thin sweater you've put on. An intense feeling of vulnerability begins in your belly. You open your mouth to speak, but as you look at his face you see the irony in his smile, the knowing arrogance in the eyes that are looking at your nipples, so you pull away and begin walking.

He laughs softly, grabbing your hand again and walking quickly. His legs are long and he has a stride to match. Even at a trot you're a half-step behind. You endure this for about a block feeling your face heat and your breath quicken from the light exercise. Finally, you stop, digging in your heels, pulling on his hand, trying to force him to release it or to slow his pace.

He does neither. Instead he stops and unexpectedly pulls you toward him. You stumble forward, and while you're off-balance he turns you, pressing your back against a parked car. Your heels teeter on the edge of the sidewalk. Your gasp turns into a growl of frustration and you push at his left shoulder with your free hand. His rumble of laughter makes you even more angry, but as you raise your hand to slap him, he grabs it, pushing both arms over your head. Your toes have lifted off the sidewalk with the enforced lean. The top of the car is cold against the backs of your hands. You're panting as he widens his legs around either side of yours. Your eyes spark as you look up to see his smug expression.

Unconsciously you bite your lower lip, willing yourself to breathe more deeply. A minute or more passes as he silently looks down at you. His eyes slide to your lips, then down to your breasts that lift with each breath. His shoulders relax and elbows soften as he dips his head toward you. With one more deep breath, you push against him, shifting shoulders and hips side to side like a wild thing trying to free itself.

This time, he growls and steps forward, and you're pressed between him and the car. You feel his chest and belly hard against you. His eyes are mere inches from yours. You give an involuntary feminine squeal as your eyes fill with tears. There's frustration, but beneath that is vulnerability spilling and staining like ink, and his unwavering, solemn look needles and tattoos you. You're marked as weaker and helpless. There's nearly a physical sensation as you feel something inside crack, some crazing of the smooth, porcelain veneer that protects your heart. And you feel unbearably tender beneath his gaze, so you look down, giving a broken, strangled sigh.

His hands move to cup your face, thumbs by either ear as the fingers slide into your hair supporting the base of the skull. His lips are by your left ear as he says, "Look at me."

You look back into his eyes, registering the dilated pupils and the carefully controlled desire. You've forgotten your stretched arms, your lifted toes. There's only the heat of his palms, the sudden sense of sense of freedom as your shoulders and neck soften, relaxing your head in his hands, and a long, slow thread of excitement unfurling in your belly. Unconsciously, you lick your lips.

As his head tips again toward yours, you hear a whispered, "Please." But it's not until his mouth rubs over yours, his teeth nipping at the lower lip, or until his tongue teases your lips open and you feel the beginning of his invasion. It's not until you sense the yawning abyss and realize only his hands can keep you from falling. It's not until then that you realize the softly pleading, "please" came from you.