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There I was, minding my own business at Peachtree Books when this lunatic comes racing in the door and knocks me into his arms. I would have ripped him a new one, but he was kinda familiar, and hot. Like I-want-to-have-your-sexy-babies-now hot.
Turns out he looks familiar because I stare at his gorgeous face on TV every week. Yup, Dalton Deangelo. In the oh-so-firm flesh.
I let him hide out from the press for a while, then I thought he'd be on his way, and I could breathe normally again. But no. He found me interesting. He wanted to tag along to my cousin's wedding with me. I couldn't say no to that face ... or THOSE EYES. Before the night was through, he was saying sweet things, then dirty things. Very dirty things.
I try to keep my eyes wide open. I've made terrible, stupid mistakes in the past. But Dalton Deangelo's touch turns me to Jell-O.
I'm just a regular girl, and he's rich and famous with no body fat. The guy has a butler! So, why is he chasing me? And why can't I say no? And what is this sordid secret of his the reporters are trying to uncover?
“Are we telling secrets now?”
“Either that or kissing. Your choice.”
I shook at the thought of divulging my secrets.
His gaze went to my lips and he leaned forward slowly.
He murmured, his voice low and barely audible, “I'm going to give you a dramatic on-screen kiss.”
I giggled in response, which normally would have made me cringe at my stupidity, but the way he was looking at me was so serious and sexy. I felt like my body was under water, with pleasant pressure pushing me together in all directions, but that at any moment, I might fly apart like so much stardust.
Dalton's expression got ultra-serious, and just like that, he turned into Drake Cheshire, the cultured vampire with a taste for big-lipped girls under one hundred pounds. He stared intensely at my eyes, my lips, my cleavage, my throat, my lips, and then up to my eyes again. I melted like a pat of butter on summer pavement.
He moved in closer, so our noses were an inch apart, and he repeated the intense look. Eyes. His, green like precious emeralds. Lips. Mine, slightly parted and trembling. Throat. Feeling very exposed. Cleavage. Mine, heaving. Probably. By the way I couldn't quite catch my breath.
His gaze slid back dreamily to my lips, and he tilted his head to the side, not yet touching his mouth to mine.
We held steady, the only movements our breathing and minor swaying with the motion of the vehicle. I could feel the heat from his skin against my lips. He tipped his head back and looked me in the eyes again.
Oh, the slow torture.
His hand moved from the outside of my thigh to the inside. I gasped. No nylons. Bare flesh. His hand was only at the hem line of my bridesmaid dress, but the way he was looking at me, it felt much more intimate. He took one of my legs firmly in both hands and pushed it to bring space between my legs, and then his hand traveled up further.
He breathed against my lips and blinked slowly as his hand moved in, up under the peach-hued tulle skirt of my dress. His fingertips grazed the silky material of my underwear.
I arched my back as the sensation of his touch blazed through me. A tiny sigh escaped my parted lips.