Up close, he’s even more magnetic. Makes me even more insane.
I continually assure myself I’m imagining the looks. The way his dark eyes move from the other tourists and linger on me. My nipples ache. Push against my bra like the garment was designed to give me pleasure. My underwear is wet. Uncomfortably so.
What’s happening to me?
“I like the coolness,” he says. “The darkness.” Again, his eyes move to me. “The privacy.”
My mind spirals. Privacy … with him.
I imagine him pushing me up against a barrel. His hand between my legs. Stroking those big fingers up and down my wet underwear.
You’re soaked for me. Good fucking girl.
I push the thought away—and it returns.
Try again. Fail again.
He walks to the bottom of the staircase. I move too fast. The other tourists are still lingering in the cellar. Not in a rush like me. Don’t need the fresh air as desperately as I do … as if it will clear my chaotic thoughts.
Alex arrives at the door at the same moment as me. I step aside. Try to be polite. He steps forward. Doesn’t care about being polite. Not that I want him to.
He leans forward, his manly scent moving around me. Through me. A smile barely touches his lips. “Are you enjoying the tour?”
“Yuh-yes,” I murmur.
“I’m glad. What’s been your favorite part so far? Wait.” His wolfish eyes glimmer. “It was the vines and the fields. I saw your eyes light up.”
“You noticed that?”
He nods like it’s just us. Like the other tourists aren’t gathering and waiting to get up the stairs.
I notice everything about you, stranger,his intense expression seems to say.
“You had an artist’s spark in your eyes,” he says. “Or are my instincts wrong?”
I lick my lips. He looks savage. Almost angry, like he thinks I’m trying to seduce him. Which is crazy because I’ve never seduced anyone. Definitely not a man like him. Over six foot, jawline that could cut glass without breaking it, hair that shines silver with his experience and maturity.
Muscles that could break my nails …
“No, you’re right,” I murmur.
More than a ghost of a smile now. Just. “Thought so. If you like, you can try your hand at painting it. If that wouldn’t be unacceptably forward?”
His tone is heavy with irony. As if nothing could be too forward with us.
“Uh, sure,” I say. Warmth sparks through me.
He read me without me needing to say a word. He wants to fulfill my desires …
Myartisticdesires. That’s all.
I look aside. At a group of five people waiting to get past us. Cameras on straps and selfie sticks, guidebooks in their hands. Confusion on their faces.
Do they know each other?
That’s the vibe they’re giving. It’s the only explanation for how close he’s standing.
He steps back, waves a hand up the stairs.
