Page 7 of Bad Moon Rising
She leaned a bit closer to him, reveling in the way the heat of his body warmed her to the core. “I could kick your ass before you took your next breath.”
His lips twitched upward. “You hold onto that optimism.”
That smile. Devastating.
“I think you’re the one who’s a little bit scared.” Her heart beat wildly against her rib cage. “Are you absolutely sure we don’t know each other? That we haven’t met before?”
He frowned, his brows drawing inward to the point a small wrinkle formed on his forehead. She couldn’t tell if it was the confusion of someone who knew her and wondered at her asking, or a stranger trying to convey a no. She’d have to get him alone and clarify. Guess she’d be joining him outside of the club.
“Why do I feel compelled to touch you?” She traced his lips with her index finger. “Makes zero sense when you just threatened to kill me. But I can’t stop. You’re…mesmerizing.”
His mouth fell open and breath whooshed out. The small bit of ink peeking out above his dark T-shirt fascinated her.
She dropped her hand to feel the heat of his skin along its pattern, tempted to peel the shirt lower to see more of the tattoo.
His chest heaved, lips parted, and eyes widened. No more cool control. This was the look of an undomesticated male in the grip of a desire. The look promised he’d take everything she allowed. And give back in kind.
She could envision it vividly. His muscular frame taking charge, demanding so much, but giving with every demand. She could practically feel his teeth scraping across her skin.
Her hearing intensified until she detected each aroused breath from him, a remarkable feat given the pounding bass of the music around them. Her vision became super sharp to the point she could see the dust specks on the edges of the molding.
How the hell could she pick out individual dust particles? Her breathing sawed in and out of her chest, and she could feel her heartbeat in her temples. The room tilted wildly, or maybe she had—
“Easy,tesoro,” he murmured, sliding out of the easy British accent into something that sounded almost Italian. “Look at me.”
He shook her when she ignored him.
“Snap out of it,” he growled. “I’m going to lose control if you… You can’t do this here.”
Tesoro. Treasure. An Italian endearment? Maybe he was Italian, even though he had spoken with a British accent. Didn’t make sense.
She spoke Italian, too. Interesting to know.
She could see each individual eyelash along his lids down to its pore. Her teeth ached to nibble on his skin.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“Focus on me.” He bracketed her chin to force her to look up at him. “Breathe in. Breathe out. Calm down.”
The freak-out receded. “Are you going to kiss me or kill me?”
“If I wanted you dead, we wouldn’t be talking.” He placed his large hand on her cheek and gently stroked her skin with his thumb. “Non mi spingere.” Don’t push me.
“You like being pushed.” She wasn’t joking. She also had no clue why she could understand Italian.
“Who are you? And where did you get that lighter?”
“You know me, right?” She readied herself for the big reveal.
“I already said, no.”
A definitive no?He didn’t know her? All this—finding him, getting him out of the subbasement and risking her life—for nothing? “You have to know something. I think my name is Nova, but that could be false. I was supposed to get you out of the subbasement.”
“I don’t understand,” he said. “Why are you here?”
“I can’t remember anything. Not who I am. Nothing. You’re supposed to know.”
He shook his head. His brows drew together.
