I didn’t react, like I was sure he expected. From what I’d seen of him, Smoke liked reactions. He liked responses. I gave him nothing.
The strategy worked, and the man continued. “All right then, Miss Ramirez…” He looked at my face, his fingers following as he brushed the hair from my eyes. “I think you’re beautiful.” Smoke inched closer, his fingers slipping down my face, to my neck, to tickle the slope of my throat. “I think you’re strong and smart.” He nuzzled my face.
I closed my eyes, taking in the sensation of the emerging scruff on his face and how it rubbed against my cheek when he leaned down to whisper in my ear.
“I think I wanted to bash my kid brother’s face in when he flirted with you, and I love him more than anything.”
“Smoke,” I whispered, pressing closer to him, forgetting for just a second that there was a baby,mybaby, in my arms.
“I think,” he continued, moving back to look me in the eyes, “that the streets are dangerous to drive. You and Mateo will stay with me, and I’ll give you a happy Christmas.”
“I couldn’t. You’ve already been too kind.” A thought occurred to me, and I took a step back, wondering what he wanted from me, debating whether that would be such a bad thing.
He was so tempting, and God, did I want him.
“Don’t think you owe me a thing,” he said as his attention slipped to the front of the building to a crowd of people laughing. “I have plenty of room. A bed for Mateo and you can take my room. I have a pullout I can crash on. But if you want…” Smoke licked his lips, moving his hand to my face to lift it up.
I thought he might kiss me, and I held my breath, waiting.
He angled my chin and moved closer, his full, wet lips glistening from the overhead light, but he stopped before he moved any closer. “If you want…you don’t have to sleep alone.”
He walked away, leaving me with my baby and the absolute belief that no one I had ever met was more dangerous than Smoke Carelli.
