Bad Behaviour. Kristin Hardy
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dare you.”
I dare you.
It had been a staple of their time together, the two of them egging one another on to discover the new, the forbidden, the outrageous.
I dare you.
“Outside.” And he turned and led her off the floor, still holding her wrist.
TIKI TORCHES LIT THE patio outside beach bar, their shadows flickering in the sand. From here, the music and buzz of conversation inside was muted. Palm fronds rattled overhead. Beyond, the waves whispered, lit by the moon that hung above. It was quiet, nearly deserted, the handful of couples populating the patio more interested in each other than anyone else.
“What’s up?” Delaney asked as Dom released her near a cluster of palm trees on the beach. She’d had to hurry along next to him, rushing out without a word to her friends. She hadn’t protested, though. Instead, irritated with him, she’d gone along for the moment. Irritated at him and irritated at herself.
Because underneath the irritation was a sneaky flush of arousal.
“I wasn’t through dancing,” she informed him.
“You weren’t dancing anymore.”
“No? What was I doing?”
“You know what you were doing.” He eyed her. “I’d rather not make a fool of myself on the dance floor.”
“Now why would you say that, sugar? You dance fine,” she purred, coming closer to him.
“I’m not talking about dancing and you know it. Whatever happens between us, happens between us,” he said softly. “Not in a crowd of people. I want to be able to concentrate.”
The mix of heat and arousal in his eyes started tension coiling in her belly. And a sudden, surprising flash of nerves. “What makes you think anything’s going to happen? Maybe you’re assuming a little too much, Mr. Cave Man.” She started to walk past him back into the bar.
Before she could react, he’d caught her, spun her around to press her back against the trunk of one of the palm trees. “Oh, you think so?” he asked softly, his breath feathering over her lips. He leaned in, his body brushing lightly against hers.
And she felt the answering tug deep inside her. She could feel the heat of him, human and real and there. His shirt still hung open from where she’d unbuttoned it; in the torchlight, his skin gleamed copper. With his shadowed jaw and unruly hair and black eyes, he looked determined, focused and maybe a little dangerous.
She moistened her lips. “Let me go.”
The flames of the torches were reflected in his eyes. “Is that honestly what you want?” He traced the line of her collarbone with his fingertips. “It didn’t seem that way on the dance floor.”
Delaney shivered. From the first, she’d watched his mouth, fantasizing how it would feel. How would it have changed over the years? How would he have changed? She’d watched him and wondered.
And wanted.
Dom stared down at her now, his gaze never wavering, his black eyes deep, dark pools she could drown in. Her heart thudded in her chest as though she’d been sprinting, as though her rib cage had suddenly grown too small to contain it. Abruptly she couldn’t find any air. Everything else receded and all she could see was him, the mesmerizing glint in his eyes as he shifted toward her, the intensity as her lips shuddered apart.
Too soon, she thought frantically, moving away a fraction. Too much. Too…she didn’t know, confusing. It was the past, it was the present, it was fun and then suddenly all too serious.
And she needed more time.
“No,” she whispered, as much to herself as to him.
But he didn’t step away. “Aren’t you curious? Don’t you wonder what it’s like after all this time? You know you do.” His gaze delved into hers. “Come on, Delaney,” he murmured. “Kiss me. I dare you.”
And with a curse, she dragged his head down to hers.
4
IT WAS DIFFERENT, WAS HER first thought. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt with him. Dom had been gentle once, tentative. But that had been years before. Now, he dove into the kiss, feasting on her mouth, each touch and press igniting the demand for more.
And she dove in headlong after him.
Heat. Hunger. She nipped at him. Her lips parted, more in demand than in invitation. It wasn’t enough just to touch, she needed to taste. She moaned when his tongue stroked against hers, not the long, leisurely swirls she remembered from before but a tantalizing dart and slide that teased more than it satisfied. And before she’d had anything like enough, he backed off, drawing her lower lip into his mouth.
It was the same and yet not the same. The last time they’d kissed, he’d been not much more than a boy. Now, he was a man and she could feel the tickle of his beard.
And she could taste the desire.
More than that, she could feel the strength in his hands and arms, the hard muscle of his body. He was lean and rangy but she felt the power there, felt the solid width of his back as she wrapped herself around him.
The kiss stretched out. Time didn’t matter, only the slide of lip against lip, the slick duel of tongues. It seemed extraordinary that just that morning she’d had no idea whether he even still existed, and now she was so desperate for him that she wanted him everywhere at once.
As though he’d heard her thoughts he shifted to press his lips to her neck as if seeking sustenance. She could only let her head drop back helplessly as his mouth traveled lower, down her throat, into the deep neckline of her dress.
When she’d kissed him last they’d still been amazed and overwhelmed by the novelty of French kissing, by the pleasure that mouth could give mouth. And later, she recalled, by the startling feel of his hands on her breasts, hot even through the fabric of her shirts.
Save for that one startling night behind the garage, hidden away, when he’d put his hands under her bra and scared her a little. They’d never gone further than that, though, and things ended soon after.
She’d wondered about him over the years, wondered how it would have been if she’d capitulated that night. But what could that fourteen-year-old boy have known about making love?
Now, though, he wasn’t fourteen any more. He’d learned in the intervening years, he’d learned all kinds of tricks. Kissing was no longer an end in and of itself, kissing was the invitation—enough to tantalize, to have the tension curling deep inside her, the demand whispering through her veins.
She wasn’t a girl, she was a woman who knew what she wanted.
And what she wanted was him.
DOM HAD WATCHED HER, FELT her on the dance floor, needed until his system throbbed with it. Now, all he wanted to do was devour the softness of her mouth, feel that willowy body against his, sink into her. And when she growled low in her throat and took the kiss deeper, he felt himself harden.
She caught his lip between her teeth and bit down, the flash of pain jolting him for a fraction of an instant before the soft slide of her tongue wiped it away. There was addiction in that wide, mobile mouth. There was addiction in the sweet, spicy taste of her. And all he wanted was more.
He could tell himself he’d approached her because he’d wanted to see her again, wanted to talk with her. But that wasn’t it completely and he knew it because all he really wanted, all he’d wanted from the instant he’d recognized her was this moment of crushing her against him, devouring her mouth with his, rediscovering her taste, her touch, the softness of her lips. Need hammered at him, to have her naked against him, under him, to feel her wet heat as he drove himself into her. He had to have her.
Now.
“I think we should—”