Page 65 of The Ghost and the Graveyard (Knight Games 1)
Rick looked over my shoulder toward the gate. His face hardened, his gray eyes turning black and as cold as ice. I blinked twice, thinking it must be a trick of the light.
As quickly as his expression had changed, he warmed again and escorted me into his home. "I am sure it's nothing. Come in and make yourself at home."
As he swept his hand toward his living room, for the first time I noticed how graceful he was. Rick didn't move like a man who planted trees and repositioned headstones for a living. He moved like a ballet dancer, muscles long and lean. I tried not to stare, but the word sexy was an understatement and his cologne, the smell of a walk through the forest, had wrapped itself around me. My reaction was an instant and illogical lust.
"Sorry I'm late. I would have called you, but I didn't have your number," I said, moving into the room.
"I don't have one," he said.
"Huh? You don't have a phone at all? Not even a cell phone?"
"No." He shook his head.
"Isn't that inconvenient?"
He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "I've always found that handling things in person is more effective."
I frowned. No phone. Rick was a mystery.
"May I get you something to drink?" he asked.
"Maybe a glass of wine?"
"Of course."
He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two glasses of red. I recognized mine as my favorite Shiraz, but his must have been different. It was darker, thicker, maybe a merlot. I took a sip from my glass and sat at a small table he'd set near the kitchen. Candles dripped wax over silver candlesticks at the center. The long edges of the tablecloth draped across my knee.
"What's that wonderful smell?"
"Roast lamb. You said it was your favorite. It will be ready in a moment. I hope you have an appetite."
"Yes. I do." I meant them to be innocent words, but even I could hear the sexual promise in them as they hit the air between us. I was baffled by myself, this uncontrollable desire I had for this man. With deep breaths, I tried to slow my racing heart.
Rick lifted my hand from the table. "Would you like to dance?"
"There's no music."
With graceful strides, he crossed the room and hit the button on a silver box on the bookshelf. The stereo began to play Latin music. I wasn't familiar with the tune, and I didn't speak Spanish, so the meaning was a mystery, but it was the type you would expect to hear in a dance club, perfectly at home with pressed bodies, heat, and sweat.
"Is this to your liking?"
"Sure, but I can't dance. I tried once and almost hurt someone." I was just being honest. If you mapped relative coordination on a graph, I would be way behind the bell curve.
"You won't hurt me." He laughed and offered me his long, graceful fingers. "I'll teach you."
My hand slid into his in a natural way as if we'd held hands for years rather than days. With a short jerk, he pulled me flush against his chest and placed his free hand in the small of my back. His hips pressed against mine, guiding my movements.
Left, together, right, hip, step back, hip, step forward. I had no idea what I was doing. My feet fell clumsily on either side of his right knee, and I tried my best to keep up without tripping. Suddenly, the five-inch heels on my boots seemed like a bad idea. The music pounded in my ears, his heart beat against my chest, and I ineptly followed him, even though I had no idea how to do the dance.
Then the oddest thing happened. One minute I was tripping over his feet, the only thing keeping me upright his hand on my back, and the next minute he was inside my head. Pictures of what he was about to do, how he would move next, slid across my mind and somehow I knew just how I was supposed to react as if he were whispering my part into my ear. I fell into pace with him, my hips gyrating against his in a way I would have never thought possible. We circled his living room, dancing and spinning until the song came to conclusion with two crashing beats and me bent backward in a low dip, panting into Rick's neck.
I tilted my chin up and met his gaze. Whatever connection we'd had while we were dancing was still there, and I knew he would kiss me. He did, long and deep until heat flowed straight to my core. But then I saw what he wanted, a play by play of his fantasy.
Just like the dance, my body responded. My lips crashed into his as I raked my nails over his shirt. Soft fabric over hard muscle teased my fingertips. Without him saying a word, I knew he didn't want me to take it off. I skimmed past the buttons, my hands traveling around his sides and down his back to give the luscious mound of his ass a squeeze. My head felt light, like that day in the cemetery, as if I was a little drunk, but better. Instead of everything seeming fuzzy, each moment was brilliantly clear, every smell and sound more alive.
His fingers twisted into my hair. "Mi cielo."
I unbuttoned his pants and dropped to my knees. His jeans slid to the floor with me. Kneeling in front of him, I had a moment of anxiety. He was erect and gigantic. His shaft was as thick as my wrist and stretched almost to his navel where the darker swell mushroomed at the tip. But my brain was promising ecstasy, and the fantasy played in my head like a favorite tune. Slowly, I slid my lips around him. Intense pleasure bloomed between my legs as if he were feeding his enjoyment directly into my head. I sucked hard, taking him deep inside my throat and moaned.
