Page 78 of You Rock My World
“This is bad,” I whisper.
He sighs, while his palm hovers near my waist like he wants to touch me but thinks better of it. “I know.”
“We should keep some distance.”
Neither of us moves.
His eyes flick to my mouth, just as mine linger on his. I should sit back. Instead, I drop my head on his shoulder. He catches me, shifting so smoothly it feels inevitable. His arm hooks around me, pulling me in until my face ends up tucked into the crook of his neck.
“I missed you too much,” I admit.
His head tips forward until his lips are brushing my scalp. “Me too.”
His fingers skim higher, tracing my ribs through the fabric, not close to anything scandalous, but somehow burning worse than if he had.
“You realize this sweater is goofy, not sexy,” I mutter. “It wasn’t supposed to turn you on.”
His laugh is low, rough. “You’re terrible atnotturning me on.”
I hug him tighter, saying, “Pot, meet kettle,” and enjoying the rumble of his laughter against my body.
We pass the rest of the ride in silence. Dorian caresses my back until the SUV slows, and the secondary gate of his house slides shut behind us, locking the world out.
I straighten up, and Dorian looks down at me because even seated, he’s so much taller.
“Last chance.”
“For what?”
“To be smart about this.”
I should make a joke, but I can’t find anything in my brain that isn’t him—the weight of his stare, the way his body is angled toward mine, those damn tattoos on his forearms.
“You want me to be smart?”
Dorian’s lips twitch. “Absolutely not. I’m depending on your terrible judgment right now.” But then he becomes serious and cups my face, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “I don’twantyou to be smart, but I need you to be. I want this to be right. To be something you’ll never regret, promise?” He tucks my hair behind my ear, his fingers combing through the locks.
I am putty under his touch. “Could you… err…” I can’t think with his hands caressing my hair. “Could you not use your seduction voice when you ask me to be sensible?”
Dorian pulls back, laughing, and opens the car door on his side. “I told you that is just my horny voice.” He gets out and circles to my side, opening my door for me and gallantly offering me a hand. “I can’t help it around you.”
I take his hand and, after we say goodnight to Ned, I let him lead me through the back entrance. The hallway opens into the main part of the house, where he hesitates.
Dorian clears his throat and gestures vaguely ahead. “Which living room do you want? The small one or?—”
“The big one.” I don’t let him finish. The last time we sat in the small living room, I ended up in his lap, and I wouldn’t survive a repeat performance.
His lips twitch like he expected that, and he keeps walking. We reach the main living room, and I wander to the massive windows overlooking the city. The view is too dark to see much, but the lights below shimmer in long, golden veins, stretching toward the hills.
Behind me, I hear him drop on the couch. “Josieee?” he calls.
I turn and watch him pat the cushion next to him. Then he stretches his arms over his head, muscles flexing. I hate that I don’t even pretend not to ogle. I go to him and, kicking my shoes off, sink into the oversized sectional, curling my feet under my thighs.
Dorian throws one arm over the backrest, legs spread.
“How was the concert last night?” I ask.
“Wild.” His face lights up as it always does when he talks about his music. “The crowd was insane, and we played three encores. I’m still buzzing from it.”
