Fuck. The way he says my name, it’s like magic, and it does things to me I wish it wouldn’t.
Dex’s phone starts to ring, startling us both, and I pull away and slide off his lap. I need to clear to my head. He could probably make me forget my own name.
“What’s up?” he says into the phone as I pad into the kitchen and grab a glass from the cupboard. “Okay, man. I’m at Nora’s.”
A thrill goes through me. He’s not hiding it, isn’t pretending like I don’t exist. Which I suppose is what I’ve expected all along. I thought he’d be embarrassed of me. After all, I’m certainly not the caliber of woman he’s used to being with.
There’s a pause, and though I can’t hear what the person on the phone says, it makes Dex smile mischievously, and his eyes find mine from across the kitchen. The look he gives me sends heat curling between my legs, and I quickly down the rest of my water.
“All right, I’ll text you the address. Later.” Dex hangs up the phone and stuffs it into his pocket, then stands from the couch. “Michael’s on his way. Gotta go film promo for the tour.”
“Oh. Okay.”
He has to leave sometime, obviously, but it’s still a letdown. Maybe it’s for the best. Having him here, all I want to do is kiss him and touch him and watch the way his mouth moves when he smiles. He’s a distraction, an ocean I could easily drown in.
And I can’t let that happen.
Dex moves toward me, and as he passes through the shafts of sunlight streaming through the windows, his hair turns a shade of shimmering gold. Not for the first time, I wonder how it’s humanly possible to look so carelessly and effortlessly gorgeous.
“So,” he says, leaning against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms over his bare chest.
“So,” I echo, suddenly feeling like I’m standing naked on a brightly lit stage.
When he looks at me like that, it’s like he’s able to see through me, can see exactly what I’m thinking, and it makes me start to shut down; he can’t know what he does to me, what I feel when I hear his voice. When I look away and begin absently scratching at a nonexistent stain on the countertop, Dex starts to laugh.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re getting shy again.”
“No,” I snap, crossing my arms in a stance that matches his. “I’m not shy.”
“No?” His voice is playful, taunting. “Are you sure?”
Now he’s closing the distance between us, stealing my breath away as he pushes me back against the cabinets. He braces his hands on the counter on either side of me, and my pulse thunders in response to his proximity. I have to tip my head back to meet his stare, and when I do, he arches an eyebrow. The challenge goes unspoken, but I feel it.
If he thinks I’m going to shrink away, he’s wrong.
I can be brave.
Rising onto my toes, I bring my lips close to his. We’re a breath away from each other, so close I can see the different shades of gray and blue in his irises. But I don’t kiss him, and he doesn’t kiss me.
It feels like a gravitational pull is dragging me toward him, and I resist it, fight the urge to succumb to my desire for him. He brushes his nose against mine, then trails it across my cheek and down my neck. The subtle touch makes my hair stand on end, sends an electric current racing over my skin.
And all my body wants—craves—is his touch, his hands, his mouth. I close my eyes and tip my head to the side, exposing my neck. Dex draws his fingers across my bare skin, pushes my hair back so he can press his lips against my flesh. And when he does, a sigh slips through my lips. That’s all it takes for me to become lost in him.
Now I’m drifting on the tumultuous sea that is Dex Reid, softening into him as his hands cup my waist. Then he lifts me onto the counter and pushes my knees apart so he can settle his hips between my legs.
“Nora Miller,” he whispers, hands trailing up and down my thighs as his gaze seems to search my face. “What’s your middle name, Little Monster?”
His nickname makes my lips curl involuntarily into a smile, and there’s no way he doesn’t see it.
“Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth,” Dex whispers. “Nora Elizabeth Miller.” He reaches up and pushes his hand through my hair. I lean into his touch, my eyes closing.
I shouldn’t want this, I try to tell myself, but there’s no conviction in the thought. I’ve tried to fight this, but now my resolve slips like sand through Dex’s fingers as his hand trails through my hair.
I open my eyes and find his blue gaze inches from mine. “What’s yours?”
“My middle name?”
I nod.
He smiles, big and bright, and his lip ring winks in the morning sunlight. “I can’t remember the last time someone asked me that.” He chuckles, more to himself than anything. “It’s Owen.”
“Dexter Owen Reid,” I say, my voice lilting playfully.
His lips pucker into a smirk. “You’re lucky you’re so cute,” he says. “My grandmother is the only one who calls me Dexter.”
“Off-limits, then?” I tilt my head to one side, and the smile slips slowly from Dex’s lips. He seems to consider it for a moment, his fingers tracing little circles on my thigh.
“No, not off-limits. Not for you.”
My chest squeezes. My words seize up in my throat.
How is this happening?
I lift a hand slowly, tentatively, my fingertips inching toward Dex’s face. When I hesitate a moment longer, he shifts, turning his cheek into my touch. The contact sends butterflies swarming through my belly. I cup his face, trail my thumb across his lips. His lip ring is smooth and hard, the metal warm from his body heat.
