Gisele Bündchen, I had pictures of Queen Elizabeth the first on my wall. I mean, what a woman, right?” He closes his eyes in reverence.
“Yes, she was pretty incredible. But also, you’re weird.” A bubble of laughter rises out of my throat
“I like your laugh.”
“I like that you make me laugh,” I’m giddy with whatever is happening, and I stare at his mouth dreamily. “Who are you?”
“Oh, where are my manners, your majesty,” he sketches a bow and looks up at me through his lashes. 'Carter Nixon Bosch, at your service. I’m nineteen years old and I’m a musician.”
I smile, but I can barely breathe. Where did this man come from? I’m completely bewitched.
“He’s so beautiful.”
I slap a hand over my mouth when I realize I spoke the thought aloud. His eyes widen in surprise and then glitter with delight.
“That’s funny because I was just thinking the same thing about you.” His voice is husky and the appreciation in his smile makes my knees weak.
“Thank you. I—” I swallow a lump in my throat and press a palm to my thundering heart.
“You okay?” His brow furrows in concern, and he reaches a hand out toward the bare skin of my shoulder like he’s going to touch me. The skin there prickles like my nerves are reaching out, trying to meet his hand halfway. And when he touches me, my whole body sighs in relief. “I’m much better than okay.”
His hand comes to rest on the nape of my neck, and his fingers sift through my hair as he bites his lip. I sigh, and he takes a step closer.
There’s a delicious heaviness building between my thighs, and my nipples peak against the thin fabric of my t shirt.
His eyes narrow and dart to my lips before coming back to mine. “I want to kiss you, again.”
His voice is full of seduction and mischief, and a million humming birds flutter in my chest at the perfectly wicked smile he’s wearing as he brings his face toward mine. “Can I?”
My lips tingle, and in answer I lift up onto my toes and brush my lips against his. When I pull away, his hand tightens against my waist and heat curls in my belly at the gleam in his eyes as he lowers his head back to mine.
When his soft, warm lips touch mine, my breath catches in my throat, and my eyes flutter closed. His kiss is as light as gossamer and delicious. When he pulls away, I whimper in protest and clasp the back of his neck and pull his mouth back to mine. He chuckles before he covers my lips with his, slips his fingers into my hair and slides his tongue into my mouth.
And holy God, does it feel good. His hands are everywhere, running down my back, cupping my ass, pushing into the hot space between my legs.
Through the cotton gusset of my panties, his fingers are blunt and hard and demanding and so good.
“Tell me what you want.” He groans.
“You,” I gasp.
I want him. The ache that started to bloom the first time I saw him has reached a fevered pitch, and I am so desperate for him to sooth it, I can barely breathe.
“Please,” I groan and grind into his fingers until I feel just a taste of what I know is to come.
He pulls his hand back with a curse and presses his forehead to mine. I keep my eyes closed while I try to catch my breath and still my thundering heart.
“Open your eyes, Clover.”
At the use of that name, they pop open.
“Clover?”
“Yes, the birthmark on your face…surely I’m not the first person to say that. It’s so fucking pretty, and the way this trail of freckles shoots out from it, like a stem of stars.”
I’m too tongue-tied to answer. Yes, everyone noticed. But when my classmates called me Clover it hadn’t been because they thought it was pretty. I run my fingers along the spot on my face I’ve treated like a blemish.
“You were born with your own good luck charm.”
In the beam of light he’s standing under his eyes remind me of the sage leaves that grows in the garden.
I wonder what shade they’ll be in the early morning light. “Will you stay with me tonight?” I ask it before I know I’m going to. Before I have a chance to be embarrassed or try to take it back, He lifts my hand in his to his lips.