The Darkest Kiss. Gena Showalter

through the speakers. The beat instantly slowed, softened.

      Forcing her expression to follow suit, she sauntered the rest of the way to him, closing that hated distance between them. She trekked her fingers up his strong, hard chest and shivered. No touching—ha! He would learn. Anarchy was hardly an obedient lapdog.

      He didn’t pull away, at least.

      “You’re going to dance with me,” she purred. “That’s the only way to get rid of me.” Just to taunt him further, she stood on her tiptoes and gently bit his earlobe.

      There was a rumble in his throat as his arms finally wrapped around her. At first she thought he meant to push her away. Then he jerked her deeper into the curve of his body, flattening her breasts against his torso and forcing her legs to straddle his left thigh. That quickly, she was wet.

      “You want to dance, then we will dance.” Slowly, decadently, he swayed her side to side, their bodies staying meshed together, her core rubbing just above his knee. Spears of pleasure ignited, traveling through her bloodstream and leaving no part of her unaffected.

      Gods in heaven, this was better than she’d imagined. Her eyes closed in surrender. He was big. Everywhere. His shoulders were so wide they dwarfed her; his upper body so muscled it enveloped her. And all the while, his warm exhalations caressed her cheek like an attentive lover. Trembling, she moved her hands up his back and tangled them in his dark, silky hair. Yes. More.

      Slow down, girlie. Even if he wanted her the way she wanted him, she couldn’t have him. Not fully. In that respect, she was as cursed as he. But she could still enjoy the moment. Oh, could she enjoy it. Finally, he was responding to her!

      His nose nuzzled her jawline. “Every man in this building wants you,” he said softly, yet his words were so sharp they could have cut like a knife. “Why me?”

      “Just because,” she said, inhaling his heady rose perfume.

      “That answers nothing.”

      “Nor was it meant to,” she said, parroting his earlier words. Her nipples were still hard, so hard, and rubbing against her corset, enhancing her desire. Her skin was wonderfully sensitive, her mind hyperaware of Lucien’s every move. Had anything ever felt so erotic? So…right?

      Lucien gripped her hair tightly, almost pulling some of the strands from her scalp. “Do you find it amusing to tease the ugliest man here?”

      “Ugliest?” When he appealed to her as no one else ever had? “But I’m nowhere near Paris, sugarpop.”

      That gave him pause. He frowned and released her. Then he shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “I know what I am,” he growled with the faintest trace of bitterness. “Ugly is being kind.”

      She stilled, peering into his seductive bi-colored eyes. Did he truly have no idea of his attractiveness? He radiated strength and vitality. He exuded savage masculinity. Everything about him enthralled her.

      “If you know what you are, sweetness, then you know you’re sexy and deliciously menacing.” And she needed more of him. Another of those shivers raked her spine, vibrating into her limbs. Touch me again.

      He glared down at her. “Menacing? Does that mean you want me to hurt you?”

      Slowly she grinned. “Only if it involves spanking.”

      His nostrils flared again. “I suppose my scars do not bother you,” he said, completely devoid of emotion now.

      “Bother me?” Those scars didn’t ruin him. They made him irresistible.

      Closer…closer… Yes, contact. Oh, great gods! She glided her hands over his chest, luxuriating in the feel of his nipples as they reached for her, savoring the ropes of strength that greeted her. “They turn me on.”

      “Liar,” he said.

      “Sometimes,” she admitted, “but not about this.” She studied his face. However he’d gotten the scars could not have been pleasant. He’d suffered. A lot. The knowledge suddenly angered her as much as it entranced her. Who had hurt him and why? A jealous lover?

      Looked like someone had taken a blade and carved Lucien up like a melon, then tried to put him back together with the pieces out of order. Still, most immortals healed quickly, leaving no evidence of their injuries. So even if he had been carved up, Lucien should have healed.

      Did he have similar scars on the rest of his body? Her knees weakened as a new tide of arousal flooded her. She’d watched him for weeks, but she hadn’t gotten a single peek at his delectable form. Somehow, he’d always managed to bathe and change after she left.

      Had he sensed her and kept himself hidden?

      “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were Bait, as my men do,” he said tightly.

      “And what makes you know better?”

      He arched a brow. “Are you?”

      Had to venture down that road, did you? If she assured him she wasn’t Bait, she would seem to be admitting that she knew what Bait was. She thought she knew him well enough to know that, in his eyes, the acknowledgment would negate the claim that she wasn’t. He would then feel obligated to kill her. If she claimed that she was Bait, well, he would still feel obligated to kill her.

      Total lose-lose.

      “Do you want me to be?” she said in her most seductive tone. “’Cause I’ll be anything you want, lover.”

      “Stop,” he growled, that ever-calm mask loosening its hold on his features for the briefest of moments and revealing a stunningly intense fire. Oh, to be burned. “I do not like this game you are playing.”

      “No game, Flowers. I promise you.”

      “What do you want from me? And do not dare lie.”

      Now, there was a loaded question. She wanted all of his masculinity focused on her. She wanted hours to strip and explore him. She wanted him to strip and explore her. She wanted him to smile at her. She wanted his tongue in her mouth.

      At this point, only the last seemed achievable. And only by playing unfairly. Good thing Devious was her middle name.

      “I’ll take a kiss,” she said, gazing at his soft, pink mouth. “Actually, I insist on a kiss.”

      “I didn’t find any Hunters nearby,” Reyes said, suddenly standing beside Lucien.

      “That doesn’t mean anything,” Sabin replied.

      “She’s not a Hunter and she is not working with them.” Lucien’s attention never wavered from her as he waved his friends back. “I need a moment alone with her.”

      His assurance stunned her. And he wanted to be alone with her? Yes! Except his friends stayed put. Jerks.

      “We are strangers,” Lucien told her, continuing their conversation as if it had never ceased.

      “So? Strangers hook up all the time.” She arched her back, pressing the core of her into his erection. Mmm, erection. He hadn’t lost it, was still aroused. “There’s no harm in a little bittie kiss, is there?”

      His fingers sank into the curve of her waist, holding her still. “You will leave? After?”

      His words should have offended her, but she was too caught up in the tide of pleasure that simple embrace elicited to care. All of her pulse points began a wild dance. A strange, luscious warmth fluttered inside her stomach.

      “Yes.” That’s all she could have from him, anyway, no matter how much she desired more. And she’d take it any way she could get it: coercion, force, trickery. She was tired of imagining his kiss and craved the reality of it. Had to have the reality of it. Finally. Surely he would not taste as amazing as she dreamed.

      “I do not understand this,” he muttered, eyes closing to half-mast.