Page 30 of Auctioned for Her Blood
He smiles. “The zipper?”
“Oh!” Heat rages beneath the skin on my cheeks and I press my back against the broom closet door. “I forgot. I’m so embarrassed.”
“No need to feel embarrassment.” His expression is understanding, gentle, and he sets his wine down on the edge of the counter. “May I?” He holds his elegant hands toward me.
Nodding, I slowly turn toward the closet door, and my entire body hums as I feel his approaching. Then the hum’s volume turns up as he slowly sweeps my hair to the side, his fingers barely brushing my neck.
I reach to hold up my hair for him. “I tried to get the zipper myself, but my arms don’t twist that way.” I laugh awkwardly.
His hand glides down from the base of my neck, barely grazing my skin as it moves. I’m not even positive he is touching my skin, but it’s as if I can sense the small space between his fingers and my back, as if there’s something connecting us, something warm and unseen and electric.
One of his hands stays lightly on my lower back, where the zipper starts, while the other takes the tab and raises it slowly, so, so slowly, and as his hand rises, his knuckle brushes along my skin. It’s all I can do to keep still, my body wanting to make involuntary motions under his gentle, barely-there touch.
The pressure on my lower back grows heavier, his hand there hot and firm as the zipper draws near the top, and then his breath washes over me, hot on the nape of my neck, and then brushing over my ear. He stands still, so close behind me, one hand resting barely above my butt and one at my neck, and the heat of his entire body penetrates mine. I’ve never had sex, but can’t imagine anything better than what I’m feeling right now.
“Ember.” His voice, barely audible, brushes through me, and my spine arches, pushing my head and butt back. The latter grazes his mid section—I don’t want to guess where.
“Oh!” I pull my hips forward. “Sorry.”
He backs away from me, and I take a long breath, my cheeks and body aflame, then slowly turn toward him.
Cool as a cucumber, he takes a sip of his wine. “Shall we sit?”
I nod. “Yes.” My voice is hoarse. “Thanks. For the zipper.”
“My pleasure.” He smiles, and the way he sayspleasurebathes me in renewed warmth, like he means so much more, and I feel entirely naked, utterly vulnerable, as if he lowered the zipper instead of raising it.
But I tell myself that my attraction and adrenaline have joined forces with my overactive imagination to add double meanings to all of his words.
In the living room, I gesture toward the sofa and then grab the sheer jacket, slipping my arms into it quickly.
“Are you feeling quite well?” He sits on the sofa. “I hope my actions were not too forward, offering to assist with your dress.”
“Not at all.” Shaking my head, probably too vehemently, I sit in the chair opposite him. “I appreciated your help.” I drain the rest of my wine, starting to feel its loosening effects. I’m being ridiculous. This man might be rich and unbearably sexy, but he’s just a man—a normal, ordinary person—and there’s no need for me to act like a foolish child around him.
“More wine?” he asks.
“No thank you.” I set my glass down on the table next to me. “But…wouldyoulike more?” I am the hostess, after all.
He shakes his head. “When I am around you, Ember, I need no further intoxicants.”
I draw a shaky breath. Maybe this crazy chemistry between usisn’tjust in my head.
“Have I once again made you uncomfortable?” He looks annoyed with himself. “It seems that I have been too direct.” He grimaces. “But I must risk doing so one more time, because you must let me explain my interest in you.”
“Explain?” My stomach keeps flipping. I don’t need intoxicants around him either, especially not now that I can feel the wine’s effects.
“Yes, I must explain why Ryker poses a grave danger to you.”
My back stiffens. “Look, you’re not going to talk me out of this dinner. Ryker won the bidding fair and square.”
“Ember, Ryker will use you. He poses a particular danger to you because you are most unique. Very special.”
“That’s flattering, but—” My insides are squirming and not in a good way. Is Zuben trying to give me a parental sex talk?
“It is not just flattery,” he says quickly. “While you are comely and charming, that is not the kind of special I mean.”
Comely?“Then whatdoyou mean?” My exasperation and discomfort are growing.
