Page 78 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
His jaw continues to grind as he focuses on the road.
“I give the best cuddles,” I joke, determined to get more of a rise out of him.
“I’m not a cuddler,” he bites out.
“You could have fooled me,” I say, in reference to the way he held me all night after my bad dreams.
“That doesn’t count,” he says through gritted teeth.
“I bet I can convert you.” I arch my brow in a challenge. “At the very least, I’ll tickle you until you submit.”
“If you dare tickle me, I’ll break your fingers.”
“Bit harsh,” I mutter, secretly pleased to be getting a response—anyresponse. “I make the best midnight feasts at pajama parties.”
He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth but doesn’t manage to completely stifle a smile. “I don’t wear pajamas.”
A bolt of fire barrels toward my pelvis and takes my breath away. I swallow, bat away the image of Cristiano wearing zero clothes, and press on.
“I’m not very good at pillow fights, so you’d win at those,” I muse, almost to myself. “My upper-body strength is terrible. Even worse now the blood has drained entirely from my arms.”
Cristiano drives the car down the ramp into the parking garage with more speed and force than necessary.
“But I promise you this,” I say with a cunning smile, “you’llneverbeat me at hide-and-seek.”
He spins the car into a space and switches off the engine, then he turns slowly to face me. I almost gasp at the heat in his glare.
“Wanna bet?”
My brows knit together as my tipsy brain struggles to understand. He reaches behind my head and releases my bound wrists. They flop into my lap and immediately start throbbing as blood courses back through the veins.
Then he leans forward and pushes his fingers through my hair to my nape, tugging me into him. His lips brush across my jaw, and he breathes heavily.
Hotly.
“I’ll give you a head start,sis.”
When he releases me, his eyes are the darkest I’ve ever seen. They look like blood moons against a ravaged sky. He breaks eye contact to lean across me for the door handle. He pulls it toward him and opens the door up. His shoulder presses into my breasts, and God help me, I push them into him, devouring the way he halts with awareness.
The sound of our heavy breathing fills the car, and as he draws back slowly, his hand brushes across my thigh, skimming over my pelvic bone and making me jump in shock. When his face is level with mine, he stops and drops his gaze to my lips.
There’s only an inch or two between us.
I’d barely need to move to feel the brush of his lips against mine, and suddenly, it’s all I want. A throbbing sensation ticks up between my legs, and my breaths shorten.
As his lips part, he runs his tongue slowly along his bottom lip, chasing it with his teeth.
I’m watching every movement as if I’m studying him beneath a microscope, so when his eyes flick to mine and he silently mouths, “Run,” I’m already one step ahead.
The seat belt snaps into place, my shoes clatter to the footwell, and my bare feet touch the ground. I turn back once to see his eyes fall shut and his head drop back against the seat, then I run.
I search for the most obvious places I could hide—under cars, in doorways, behind a dumpster. Then I look some more. My heart pounds as the sound of his voice counting backward travels up my spine with the adrenaline.
When I finally settle on a hiding place—one I’m convinced will fool him—I hear the sound of a car door closing softly.
His voice is thick, molten steel.
“Be careful what you wish for, Castellano. Ready or not, here I come.”
