Page 24 of Tempted By the Handsome Doctor

He laughs. "Maybe. But in the best possible way." He moves to my bookshelf, examining titles just as he did in the living room. "Though I'm not sure how many librarians have an entire shelf dedicated to murder mysteries."

"Occupational hazard," I joke. "We know too many creative ways to kill people and hide the evidence."

"Remind me never to get on your bad side." He picks up a small framed photo from my dresser—me and Dad at my college graduation, both of us beaming at the camera. "You have his smile."

"And his stubbornness," I add, coming to stand beside him. "And his taste in books. And his terrible sense of direction."

"All excellent qualities to pass down to our child," Daniel says, setting the photo back carefully. He turns to face me, suddenly serious. "Thank you for showing me your home. For trusting me enough to let me in."

"Thank you for listening." I meet his gaze, aware of how close we're standing, of the quiet intimacy of being in my bedroom with him. "About Dad. About everything."

"Always."

Daniel's eyes drop to my mouth, then back to my eyes, a question in them. My heart pounds against my ribs. This is probably a bad idea. Definitely a complication we don't need. But I'm tired of making the safe choice, of holding everyone at arm's length. And my body remembers his—remembers the feel of his hands, the taste of his mouth, the way he made me feel that night a month ago.

I answer his unspoken question by rising onto my tiptoes and pressing my lips to his.

For a heartbeat, he goes completely still, as if afraid any movement might shatter the moment. Then his hands come up to frame my face, gentle but sure, and he kisses me back.

It's nothing like our first kiss, that night at Finch's Bar. That had been all heat and urgency, tequila-brave and stranger-bold. This is slower, deeper, more deliberate. A getting-to-know-you kiss. A maybe-there's-something-real-here kiss.

His thumbs brush my cheeks as his lips move against mine, coaxing rather than demanding. I sigh into the contact, my hands finding home on his shoulders, feeling his solid strength beneath soft fabric. He tastes faintly of the caramel apple he had at the festival, sweet with an edge of tartness that makes me want more.

I curl my fingers into the fabric of his shirt, drawing him closer. What started slowly quickly deepens as Daniel angles his head, changing the pressure in a way that makes my knees weaken. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, requesting rather than demanding entrance, and I open to him with a soft sound that seems to ignite something in him.

He breaks the kiss, breathing hard, his forehead resting against mine.

"Maya," he whispers, "I can't—I've been thinking about you, about us, every day since that night."

"Me too," I admit, the confession easier in the dim light of my bedroom, with his hands warm against my skin.

"I want you," he says, voice rough with desire. "I've tried to be patient, to take things slow, but God, Maya, I want you so much it hurts."

The raw honesty in his voice sends heat spiraling through me. I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. "What are you expecting, Daniel? From this? From us?"

His gaze is steady, unwavering. "Everything you're willing to give. I just know I don't want to walk away again."

It's the right answer—the only answer that could have bridged the distance I've maintained. I rise on tiptoes again and capture his mouth with mine, pouring every feeling into the contact.

The kiss turns molten almost instantly. Daniel's restraint dissolves as his hands slide down my back to my hips, pulling me flush against him. I can feel his hard bulge pressing against me, a tangible reminder of how much he wants this. Wants me.

My fingers find the buttons of his shirt, working them free with trembling urgency. He helps, shrugging out of it and tossing it aside, then reaches for the hem of my dress. Our eyes meet, a silent question. I nod, lifting my arms so he can pull it over my head.

The dress joins his shirt on the floor, leaving me in just my bra and underwear. Daniel's eyes darken as they travel over me, lingering on the swell of my breasts above simple cotton lace.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, reverence in his voice. "Even more beautiful than I remembered."

Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine again, hungrier now. His hands explore newly exposed skin, tracing the curve of my waist, the dip of my spine. I press closer, craving the contact, and he groans into my mouth.

"I need to touch you," he says against my lips. "All of you."

His fingers find the clasp of my bra, unhooking it with surprising dexterity. The straps slide down my arms, and then I'm bare to him from the waist up, my breasts heavy and sensitive. Danielpulls back just enough to look at me, his pupils blown wide with desire.

"God," he breathes, something like wonder in his expression. He cups my breast in his palm, his thumb brushing over the nipple, already stiff from anticipation. "Perfect."

He lowers his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone, down the slope of my breast, until his lips close around the stiff nipple. I gasp at the sensation, my fingers threading through his hair to hold him there. His tongue circles the areola before flicking across the tightened bud, sending sparks of pleasure shooting down my spine.

My legs feel too weak to support me, and Daniel seems to sense it. He straightens, lifting me effortlessly and carrying me the few steps to my bed. He lays me down with care, as if I'm something precious and fragile.

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