She gave him her darkest scowl. “Do you think I plaster myself all over every strange man I meet?”
“I am strange?”
There was no trace of amusement on his face. She wanted it back. The steady, focused stare was getting to her. Now she’d insulted him. Damn the language barrier.
“I meant as in stranger. A stranger. I don’t plaster myself against men.”
“I would hope not.”
She didn’t see amusement on his face, but she heard a hint of it in his voice and for some reason, her body wanted to melt at his feet right then and there.
“Well, you’re just . . . um . . . gorgeous.” Confession was supposed to be good for the soul, right? And what else could she do? She’d insulted him by calling him strange. She hadn’t meant to, but she’d done it. And anyway, telling the truth seemed the only thing she could do, because she’d blurted it out without thinking. It was already out there, and she couldn’t take it back.
“Gorgeous?”
Great. He didn’t know what the word meant. She sighed again and wished she could unmelt her hand from his skin. There was a thin piece of material between her palm and his skin, but she was fairly certain she’d melted that away as well. Even if it was still there, she could no longer feel it.
“Hot. Seriously hot.”
He blinked. Why had she wanted him to blink? He had long lashes. Black like his hair. Not dark brown. His hair and lashes were the real thing. Black. Glossy black. Beautifully black. She was so perving on him. It was wrong, but impossible to get her mind to work properly enough to stop.
“Good-looking and sweet. That’s a lethal combination,” she added, her mouth running away from her. The ground needed to open up and swallow her. She needed to add a disclaimer. “But you’re safe. Really. I’m just going to stare at you a lot, but I won’t be all grabby and touchy. Well. Except for my hand. That’s kind of melted into you and there’s nothing either of us can do about that.”
How was that for recovering? Now she was just plain crazy in his eyes. Like her grandmother. It obviously ran in the family. At least she didn’t think he was a vampire; but really, weren’t vampires supposed to be sexy? Dracula had been really sexy at times. And he did make her tea. Men didn’t do that, did they? She’d never seen one of her brothers-in-law make tea for her sisters. Her sisters always made dinner and put it on the table in front of their already seated husbands. Did vampires make tea?
Andre actually smiled. A flash of white teeth only, but for a moment he’d smiled. Even in the dark she could see his teeth were very white and not sharp and pointy like a vampire’s teeth should be. No bloodstains. Her neck was safe. Her pulse gave a disappointed little throb. The idea of him nibbling at her neck was sexy, too.
“You think I am this . . . gorgeous?”
“Um. Yeah. You’re drop-dead gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous women like me just view from afar.”
His smile was completely gone now. But his eyes had gone soft. Liquid almost. So beautiful she wanted to cry.
“Women like you?” he repeated.
She gave a small shrug, still leaning into his body. Still with weak knees and a stomach doing flips. Worse. Serious, serious chemical reactions, little mini-explosions taking place in secret places she didn’t want to think about—not with him so close. She couldn’t pull her gaze from his any more than she could unmelt her hand that was now permanently glued to his side.
“Ordinary. Normal. You know. Not goddesslike status. We don’t associate with men like you. We just worship from afar.” Yeah. She was making a total fool of herself. Now she knew why it was a total blessing she’d never been attracted to a man before. She was an idiot. She had to stop talking. She just couldn’t. She was too nervous and when she was nervous, she chattered.
“Teagan.”
A million bird wings fluttering in her stomach joined the roller coaster. He could not continue to say her name like that or she was going to have a mini-orgasm just from the sound of his voice. That was gospel. Absolute.
“Um. Andre. You have to stop saying my name.”
His face changed. Subtly. All those carved lines, like a sculpture of the god of masculine beauty, softened. More masculine beauty. She blinked and his face was closer. His hand slipped around to the nape of her neck, his thumb sliding along her cheek. Her stomach bottomed out, did a series of flips and began churning. The air actually whooshed from her lungs so that they burned. Her throat closed.
She didn’t close her eyes. She couldn’t. He didn’t close his eyes. He watched her reaction, and she couldn’t stop it. The disaster of his mouth finding hers. She didn’t know how to kiss. He was gorgeous. He had to have kissed a gazillion times. Still, even now when she was going to make more of a fool of herself than ever, she held very still. Waiting. Holding her breath. Needing. Craving. Her perfect disaster.
His mouth touched hers. Featherlight. An exquisite brush that left behind tingles. The tingles radiated right down her body to her breasts so that she ached more than she’d already been aching. The sensation kept traveling, using her veins as a highway straight to her sex. She felt heat. Fire. A spasm of need.
She blinked. His other arm moved to her back, pulling her even tighter to him. The hand at her nape crept into her hair, fingers bunching her tight braids, pulling her head back. His mouth returned and she couldn’t stop herself. She closed her eyes and just let him take her over.
She had never kissed a man before. No one actually, other than her grandmother and sisters and that was more an affectionate kiss on the cheek. This was something altogether different. His lips moved over hers, sending little darts of fire shooting in every direction, all over her body. His tongue slid along the seam of her lips and a spear of fire shot to her feminine channel. Burning her there.
She had a mad desire to press herself against his thigh, but she lost even that thought when he deepened the kiss. Gently. Almost tenderly. Still, his mouth was pure fire and she was drowning in him. With him. She hadn’t known a woman could feel this way. She just gave herself up to him. Let him take her over, needing his mouth and the taste of him and the burn that just kept threatening to spin out of control.
He lifted his head and stared down into her eyes. She knew she looked dazed and confused because she was dazed and confused. She wasn’t even certain she knew her own name. She blinked rapidly to try to bring herself out from under his spell. She shook her head and touched her lips.