"Yes, it is," I replied. I poured each of us another glass, emptying the last drops into mine. We'd finished the entire bottle, and I had finished my meal. "Would you like to move to the family room? Maybe watch some TV? I can grab that bottle of Shiraz."
He gave the sort of nod that starts and ends with the eyes, not just assent but anticipation. The feeling was mutual. We sojourned to the plush sofa in the family room. I discovered the television didn't have cable and settled on a Saturday Night Live marathon while he poured more wine.
"Hot summer we've had. Glad it's almost over," I said. Crap. I was such a nerd. Who talks about the weather with a could be underwear model at her side and a glass of wine in hand?
"Very...Hot," he drawled. Oh god his lips were full. Was that a dimple in his chin?
I caught myself leaning toward him and readjusted in my seat.
"Funny thing about the heat. I'm a nurse at St. John's, and you would be surprised how many heat related injuries come in..." My mouth was still moving, but I had no idea what was coming out. Did I just say cooling packs? I tried to stop, but I was having an out-of-body experience or something.
Rick placed his fingers under my still wagging chin.
"Fluids," I blurted, finishing off a sentence about something that wasn't as important as his face, so very close to mine.
"Grateful, I know you've just met me, but you are...incredible. May I kiss you?"
I'd sworn off men. I'd promised myself I'd stay in control. So why was I having so much trouble following my own rules? Of course, I'd felt attracted to Rick before he walked through the door. The effects of the wine magnified that initial attraction. He smelled good, like the outdoors. Fresh-turned earth, pine, and something else I couldn't quite place-the ocean, I think. But more than that, Rick made me feel safe. If the sensation was because he knew my father or because his job as caretaker eased my fears about the graveyard, I wasn't sure. Maybe the desire to not be alone in a strange new house was enough. Whatever the reason, I looked into those gray eyes and a wave of heat moved from my heart due south.
"Yes."
He leaned in slowly, lips brushing mine, soft, warm, and gentle at first. The kiss was closed-mouthed and conservative. I blinked lazily, enjoying the sweet gesture. He pulled back a little, like he was kissing me goodnight, restraining himself.
I can't explain what came over me. A slow burn budded between my legs. My body ached, hungry, wanting to be fed. I wasn't satisfied. This was more than attraction. I stared at him with the shaking hands, racing heart, and fevered skin of an addict. I had tasted ambrosia, and I wanted more.
Eyes locked onto his, I tangled my fingers in the dark curls at the back of his head. Coaxing his face toward mine, I returned his gentle kiss but then demanded more. I ran my tongue along the place where his lips touched.
"Open for me," I murmured in a husky version of my voice.
He gasped. It was all the invitation I needed. I couldn't resist. I slid my tongue between his teeth in a deep, wanting kiss. I thrust into his mouth, a crude imitation of what I wanted him to do to me. What my body begged for.
The heat from our lips flowed down my chest, made my stomach tighten, and moved lower. I bit his lip. Oh, he tasted good. He made a low sound like a growl and smoothed his hand over my hip. Lust rippled through me, leaving me hot and wet between my legs, my body ready for him in an instant. Lord, I wanted him. An unexpected combination of sexual attraction and possessiveness I'd never experienced took over, and the desire absolutely owned me.
"You make me burn," he whispered into my mouth.
"The feeling is mutual."
His hand circled to the small of my back, pulled me hard against his chest. A string of syllables came out of his throat in a language I didn't know but in a tone I completely understood. Rick wanted me too. My insides liquefied. My will was not my own.
I clawed the back of his head and scissored my legs to get closer to him. Why, I don't know. No room remained between us as it was. He trailed kisses down my throat and pulled the neck of my T-shirt aside to continue his mouth's exploration. Meanwhile, his other hand skimmed up my ribs, cupping and lifting my breast to bring his lips achingly close to the black lace of my bra. Electricity coursed through my body.
"Oh!"
Frantically, I worked one hand into the neck of his shirt, unbuttoning with the other. Light-headed, like when I was a kid and would run downhill so fast I thought I'd trip, I slid my fingers across his chest. That's when I felt a ridge of flesh on his left pec.
I pulled back. A crude, hooked scar marred the skin over his heart. It almost looked like he'd been branded.
Searing pain, a red-hot railroad spike, sliced through my skull. I buried my face in his opposite shoulder, hoping the headache would go away. "What happened here?" I managed, my touch lingering.
"A mark of my profession. The caretaker's scythe."
"I didn't know caretakers had a mark. Is that like how Marines get the same tattoo?"
"Not all of them." His expression changed, closing off, and he pulled his shirt back over his chest. He cleared his throat and began buttoning.
All at once, awareness that I was making out with a complete stranger hit me upside the head. I backed off, straightening my shirt in the process. This wasn't even a date, and I was practically jumping this guy. Disappointed in myself, I frowned. Had I no self-control?
"What's wrong?"
