Page 26 of Rooke
“And here I was thinking you were a prude, Ms. Connor.”
“Jesus. There are about a hundred sanitation codes being broken in there.”
“Probably more. I don’t think the Barbieris need to worry about impromptu visits from the health inspector though, do you?”
A kind of hysteria rises up inside me, gathering me up until I can’t even think straight anymore. This is the weirdest date I’ve ever been on, with the strangest man. I clap my hand over my mouth, trying to stem the laughter that’s threatening to burst free from me but it’s no good. It escapes me anyway.
“I think someone’s drunk too much,” Rooke says, leaning his back against the wall, sliding his hands into his pockets.
“Not true. I had just the right amount of wine to get me through this bizarre night.”
Rooke shakes his head. “If you say so. But I think you’re a little impaired, Sasha.”
“I’m not.”
“I can prove you are.”
“How?”
“I could come over there and kiss you. Sober Sasha would never allow that to happen, right?”
“Damn straight she wouldn’t.”
He pushes away from the wall, his face growing very, very serious. Oh, god, he’s serious. He’s actually going to try and kiss me. My laughter dies on my lips. “Don’t, Rooke.”
He’s two feet away from me. One foot.
“Rooke, I mean it. Donottry and kiss me.”
Less than a foot now. I press myself back against the wall, trying to melt into the brickwork, but it doesn’t happen. Suddenly his chest is pressed up against mine, and his hands are on me, gripping my hips, pulling me toward him. His dark eyes are unblinking, locked and loaded, fixed onto me with a passion that makes me want to look away. I don’t understand the way he’s looking at me right now. It’s as though he’s been holding back before. As if every other time he’s looked at me with that playful, wild grin on his face, that he’s only been showing a part of himself to me. Here and now, he looks as if he’s unveiling himself, showing me how fierce and dangerous he truly is.
“Rooke…” I sound breathless, completely unlike myself. I hold a hand up, planting it in the center of his chest, pushing a little to keep him at bay, but my strength is nothing compared to his. I feel weak and vulnerable, dwarfed by him as he leans over me, his head bowed, forehead only a few inches away from mine.
“We’re only going to do this once,” he says. “So really think for a second, Sasha. I’m going to kiss you. If you don’t want my mouth on yours, my body against yours, then say so now and I willnevercall you again. But if you do want this, if the prospect of my hands in your hair and my tongue in your mouth makes your heart beat a little faster, then all this other bullshit has got to stop.Do you hear me? Do you understand?” He sounds angry. I stare up at him. My hand is still trapped between our bodies, pressed up against his chest, and I can feel the steady, determined tattoo of his heart thumping in his ribcage. I feel like I have a hummingbird trapped insidemychest, and it’s frantically batting at its cage, trying to get out.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I understand.”
Rooke bends into me, pulling me closer to him. He leans down, his forehead resting against mine, and I’m paralyzed. Should I stop him? Should I tell him to let me go? It’s not until the very last second that I make up my mind. I don’t want him to let me go. I want his mouth on mine, and his hands in my hair. I want more than that. God forgive me but I do.
I’m too scared to close my eyes. Rooke’s remain open, too. We stare at each other as his lips meet mine. A long moment passes, and neither of us moves. Slowly, Rooke exhales down his nose. His breathing is labored, shaky. I can tell by the sound of it that he’s struggling to retain his composure. He digs his fingers into my skin through my dress, and that’s it. It’s been exhausting trying to keep my distance from this guy. He’s taken a lot of shit from me in a very short space of time. Not only that but he’s repeatedly come back for more. So I kiss him. I close my eyes, and I melt into him. Winding my arms around his neck, I reach up on my tiptoes and I commit.
He groans into my mouth as I open up for him. He tastes sweet, all the sugar from dessert cut with the tannin of the wine we were drinking. He breathes hard into my mouth as he kisses me, his tongue tasting and exploring my mouth, too, and my head spins out of control. It seems impossible that I should be feeling this swept away. It’s been years since I’ve thought about the magic of a first kiss. This is light years beyond magical, though. It’s sublime. It’s incendiary. It’s apocalyptic. It feels like the world is ending. The sky is falling down. I’m lost to the frantic thrum of my heart, and the feeling of my breasts crushed up against his chest.
I want him.
Damn him, and damn me, too.
This is going to be a disaster.
FOURTEEN
THE TIGHTROPE
SASHA
I fumble, dropping my keys, and Rooke stoops down to get them. I don’t feel like my body is my own at this specific moment in time. I’d love to blame the alcohol—it would be easy enough to do—but I don’t even feel drunk. I just feel like I’m outside of my body somehow, witness to what’s happening but not really participating. Rooke glances through the keys and looks at the lock, then selects the correct key, using it to open the front door.
“How did you know?” I ask.
