Six Hot Single Dads. Lynne Marshall
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“I could start by kissing your cheek, whispering in your ear that you look beautiful tonight.” He did exactly that as he said it, his warm lips on her face, his hot breath against her ear, skimming the slope of her neck.
Her head was swimming, but a compulsion rose up in her, a need to use this as an excuse to push boundaries just as he had. She reached up and dug her hand into the thick hair at his nape, grazed his ear with her thumb. That one brush of skin on skin was enough to send her into blissful oblivion especially when his mouth parted ever so slightly. “Beautiful, huh? You told me I looked fine.”
His eyes were intense, darkening as he focused on her in the soft light of the ballroom. All sound receded. Movement around them slowed. “I lied. You look spectacular.”
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “And you might be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. Damn you.”
He cupped the side of her face, looking at her as if he’d been planning this all along. There was no hesitation in his eyes, just sheer will and determination. Her heart thumped wildly. His gaze stripped away every defense she had. It felt as if she was stark naked on that dance floor. His face drew closer. His eyes drifted shut. She followed suit. Before she could take a breath, he claimed his kiss.
A frantic flutter started in her chest. The sensation of his giving lips on hers, the wonder of his warmth, spread to her stomach, blanketed her shoulders and legs, heated her cheeks. She rose to her tiptoes and arched into him. Finally. A kiss. His approach was commanding and entirely self-assured, his grasp on her so firm. She wasn’t sure she’d ever been kissed so masterfully. Then came his tongue, soft and sensual. Gentle. Dizzying.
When they came up for air, her head was in the clouds. Flashes of light surrounded them. So this was what it was like to see fireworks. She’d never been kissed like that. No other man had been in the same league of Marcus’s intensity—not even James, who’d been a damn good kisser.
“I hope we gave them what they wanted,” he whispered, his eyelids heavy.
She nodded, not knowing what to say, hypnotized by the vision of his lips, wondering what her mouth had to do to invite his to be all over her—her neck, her chest, her everything. If she felt naked and he had the nerve to kiss her, he might as well do it for real. She turned, squinting. Photographers. Cameras. A barrage of flashing lights.
“Because I know I got what I wanted,” he muttered.
“We should go.” Ashley gazed up at Marcus, his physical presence making it damn near impossible to think. So instead, she relied on what her body told her to do. Her only honest desire at that moment was to be alone with him. Either he’d act as if the kiss had been a mistake, in which case she definitely didn’t want anyone within earshot. Or he’d want more. In that case, she wanted a clear, horizontal landing spot. She might never catch him in this mood again.
“You don’t have to stay?” he asked.
She shook her head. She knew she’d catch flack for leaving early, but she didn’t care—he’d rendered her unable to think through the ramifications of anything. “No. I don’t want to answer questions about the kiss. It’s my party and I’ve had enough.” Her arm hooked in his, punctuating her declaration.
“Right, then.”
They made their exit, Ashley feeling as antsy as she’d felt in a long time, but also loving the feeling of stealing away with Marcus. As guest of honor, Ashley had earned the right to have her limo waiting outside the hotel. They were whisked away into the New York City night, where true dark did not exist—too many lights, too much commotion.
Sitting this close to him, the tingle of his lips still on hers, it was all she could do to remain a lady and wait for a sign, some indication of what he was thinking. Her breaths were shallow as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen no matter how much of it she sucked in. She glanced over at him, and he acknowledged her with half a smile.
“Some night, huh?” he asked.
She scoured her brain for something impossibly sexy to say but couldn’t come up with much. “It ended better than I thought it would.”
He laughed quietly, but she wasn’t in the mood for him taking her answer as comedy. Silently but deliberately, she planted her left hand on the seat between them, palm up, asking for his touch without a single word. She wanted him to look at her, but his sights were set on her hand. Was this the right thing to do? It felt as if it was, but maybe that was the influence of his kiss. Her heart, having no clue as to how he’d respond, chose to canter with all the grace of a newborn filly.
After several agonizing moments, he reached for her hand, but he didn’t actually take it. Instead, his fingers caressed the cup of her palm, back and forth.
“This is the life line,” he said, tracing the one that started near her thumb and curved down to the heel of her hand.
Her normally restless self was as enthralled as could be by his touch, which sent excitement bubbling up inside her. She turned to him. Wherever any of this led, she wanted it, but they had blocks to go until they’d be back to their building. The thought of waiting was an excruciating one, but she also knew better than to start things in the limousine. Keep your clothes on, Ash.
“If I remember correctly, yours says that you’re someone people count on in difficult times,” he said.
She liked that. She wanted people to be able to rely on her, especially her parents, even when she felt as though she couldn’t keep her own life together. But were these words really coming out of Marcus’s mouth? “You know palm reading?”
“It’s called palmistry, and it’s been popular in the UK for ages. My great-great-grandmother was a member of the Chirological Society of Great Britain.” His brow furrowed with feigned seriousness. “They were very concerned with preserving the art of palmistry and keeping charlatans from abusing it.”
“This is literally the last thing I ever expected from you, Marcus Chambers.”
He smiled, his eyes connecting with hers, exposing her vulnerabilities. “Maybe you aren’t as perceptive as you think you are.”
“I’m incredibly perceptive, and I perceive that you’re just very good at keeping things to yourself.”
He looked down again and softly traced another line on her hand. “This is the head line. Yours says that you pick up on other people’s feelings. You sympathize with them.”
“See? Perceptive. I told you so.”
“It also means that you change your mind a lot. I’m not sure that’s the best quality. It can make things difficult for the people in your life.”
“It depends on how you see it. Some people might say that means I’m flexible.”
“Your heart line is split in two.” He shifted to the deep crease closest to her fingers.
“So you can tell that my heart has been broken before?” Her breaths came quicker. Could he see that she was hurting? That she was lonely? That she needed love?
“Actually, that means you have a habit of putting other people’s feelings first. You should concentrate on what you want, Ash.”
That was the first time he’d called her by her nickname, and God, she loved the familiarity of it. He deviated from the lines and swirled gentle circles in her palm. She sucked in a breath. He’s killing me. How a man could command anything he wanted with the simple brush of his fingers was beyond her. She knew only that Marcus could.
“Your skin is so soft,” he muttered with a sexy undertone of gravel in his voice. “I could touch it forever.”
“I could let you forever.” That was the truth. It felt so perfect.
He