Page 147 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me
“Well, come a little closer, kitty.” He beckoned me with his hand. “I don’t bite. Much.” He grinned, baring his teeth.
Just my luck. Sexy, playful Gabriel had come out to play.
Instead of jumping to do his bidding, I floated on my back with my eyes on the puffy white clouds, like I was just chilling and not at all interested in him. Or his tattoo.
I was regressing. Acting like a teenager.
Maybe I was wrong. It was highly improbable, very nearly impossible that he would havethattattooed on his back. But I was pretty sure he did.
Where had he even gotten it? I drew that design years ago and hadn’t seen it since.
After a few more seconds of floating on my back, I lunged at him and grabbed his shoulders, trying to catch him by surprise. “Show. Me.”
In hindsight, that was a grave error. His reflexes were back to being lightning-quick. He gripped the backs of my thighs and literally swept me off my feet. My hands gained purchase on his shoulders and my legs wrapped around his waist to keep myself upright.
“You’re not funny,” I said when he laughed.
“I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
No, I guess he wasn’t. I felt his erection pressing against my stomach and whenever I tried to pull away, I found that I couldn’t. Not because he was holding me hostage, but because I couldn’t get my brain to send the right signals to my body.
Let go of him. Swim away, you fool.
Instead, I pressed my palms on his shoulders and levered myself up so I could look over his shoulder. My boobs were practically in his face. The bottom of the design dipped under the waistband of his board shorts, but I confirmed that it was the teardrop mandala tattooed on his lower back. And it was my design.
I slid back down his chest, so we were eye level and wound my arms around his neck.
“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice strained, his fingers digging into my thighs.
“Where did you get it?” I whispered.
His dark eyes studied my face for a few beats.
Our eyes locked and held and I forgot the question. Forgot everything.
A bead of water trickled down his cheekbone and I traced it with my fingertip right to the corner of his mouth.
“Cleo,” he whispered, his eyes drifting shut, long lashes resting in the hollows. “Cleo. Cleo. Cleo. Kiss me.”
He sounded like he would die if I didn’t. I felt likeImight die if I didn’t. And now I couldn’t think of one single good reason why we shouldn’t be doing this.
I moved my mouth closer. Mere inches from his.
His soft breath skated over my skin, and I wanted to breathe him in.
Inhale him into my lungs until he was the very air that I breathed.
I kissed the corner of his mouth. Softly, gently. Brushed my lips over the stubble on his jaw.
Traced his dark brows with my fingertips. The slope of his nose. The curve of his mouth. Still so familiar to me.
He sighed.
I pressed my mouth against his and we stayed like that for a few long moments.
My legs trembled. My hands shook.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
