“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Mandatory event.”
“Ah.”
The conversation came to a halt again.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
He remained silent.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a dark, authoritative aura that would probably silence more timid people?”
He turned his head slowly to her and raised a single eyebrow.
She grinned broadly. “I’ll take that as a yes. I’m a little jealous. Nobody would forbidyoufrom flirting.”
Moreau shook his head almost imperceptibly. “I never flirt.”
She laughed. “Never? But then how do you get women into bed?”
Moreau said nothing, but instead, lifted one corner of his mouth and peered down at her again. This time, however, his eyes darkened. They became ominous yet expectant, like stormclouds moving over her. It felt like he was telegraphing his hands running over her skin, under the hem of her dress, down her legs in tingling streaks...up her contours again until they stopped at her lips, which began to warm.
New heat flooded her entire body, and her breathing quickened. Yes, it had been far too long since anyone had touched her. This had to be remedied. Still, she shivered again. How the hell did the guydoit?
“Ah. That’s how you do it,” she replied hoarsely, wiping her palms on her dress and licking her suddenly dry lips.
Moreau merely nodded, and his gaze darted to her mouth one last time before he turned and reached for his beer. She followed his movement, noticing his knuckles turning white as he wrapped his large hand around the bottle, and wondered how it would feel if he were touching her. If his thumb ran over her skin, instead of the neck of the bottle. She wondered if his touch was coarse or soft. Rough or gentle. She hoped for both.
Something sweet and heavy sank into her abdomen so that she had to fold her hands across her lap and press her thighs even tighter together. The mere thought was turning her on. And when she looked up, she noticed that Moreau had followed her own gaze — his irises even darker than before.
Her pulse shot up again, so she opened her lips, feeling like she wouldn’t be able to get enough air otherwise.
Shit, his gaze was dangerous.
She glanced away and asked quietly, “In your professional opinion, is Dax just an idiot when he’s with me, or is it a general problem?”
Moreau’s mouth hinted at a smile and her traitorous abdomen hinted along with it. “It’s a general problem.”
“I thought so.” She raised her glass to her lips and remembered that it was empty. Sighing, she put it back and continued talking simply because Moreau wasn’t. “You know,Dax wants me to find my dream man and have my happy ending as if it were my duty as a woman, or at least as his sister, to live a monogamous life and be happy forever with some boring guy. But I don’t believe inhappily ever after. Happiness only ever exists for a short time. And I can be happy for as many short periods of time as I want!”
She felt Moreau’s gaze on her face. Felt it more than saw it.
She swallowed and slowly turned her head. “Right…Lucas?”
His square jaw worked before he murmured darkly, “Nobody calls me Lucas.”
“Do you preferKiller?”
“No.”
“Okay, so I’ll stick with Lucas,” she decided because it was irritating that all hockey players only addressed each other by their last names, almost as if they were constantly commenting on their own game. “If you have any objections, talk for five minutes straight.”
She looked at him expectantly. Seconds passed before Lucas lowered his chin…so that the shadow of his nose almost swallowed his broad smile. Almost.
Anna saw it, though. She felt it. Everywhere. Like butterflies in her chest. Like fingertips running up her bare arms, leaving burn marks.
