She shook her head. “I don’t get you, Malichai. You’re risking scaring me off by telling me all this, you know that, don’t you?”
“I like to be fair, and you’re not someone who backs away from a fight. It’s important to me that you know I have intentions, but it isn’t just to get you in my bed.” He grinned at her, his thumb sliding over her lips. “Well, okay, I’ll be honest. I have intentions of getting you in my bed as soon as possible.”
Beneath the pad of his thumb, her lips formed a smile. He felt that movement, the soft slide of silk along his nerve endings. It was a small, subtle movement, but it triggered an explosion of heat in him.
“You might actually have a chance of getting me in bed,” she replied. “You’ve got charm on your side and I can see I’m a little too susceptible to that in you.”
“Because I’m such a badass.”
“Because you’re so sweet.”
He groaned. “You just can’t use that word, Amaryllis. Seriously. If my brothers were here and heard you call me ‘sweet,’ I’d never hear the end of it. I’d have to shoot them, I’d be in jail and then you’d be coming to visit me, wearing something sexy, and I’d get in fights with the other inmates. It would be bad.”
She laughed, just the way he knew she would. Soft. The notes scattering around him like a symphony playing in the night. The sound settled into him, finding its way inside. He wanted to hear that sound every day. It drowned out the sound of machine-gun fire. Mortar fire. The screams of the wounded and dying.
His palm settled around the nape of her neck and he exerted a little pressure, giving her every out, giving her time to pull away. She didn’t. She bent her head down toward his. Up close, her face was even more beautiful than he’d realized, her skin flawless other than one crescent-shaped scar up by her left eye. It was tiny, like a little moon. Her lashes were long and thick, and they fluttered right before they lowered.
Then his mouth was on hers and his mind shut down. The taste of her, the heat, took him like a wildfire spreading through his body. It seemed she poured liquid fire down his throat to find his veins. His heart pounded. He found himself kissing her like a starved man, feeding off her. Wanting, even needing, more from her. It was never going to be enough. Never. Her taste was addicting, but it was that firestorm rushing through him, an experience he’d never had, that he knew he wanted for the rest of his life.
He pulled her down on top of his chest, his arms closing around her, so that she sprawled over him like a blanket, her lips like warm silk on his. Her mouth was a flame of scorching heat that just seemed to grow hotter and hotter as it spread through him and settled in his groin.
He knew if he didn’t stop soon, he wasn’t going to be able to. There was no halfway with her kisses. She simply gave herself to him—wholly surrendered to him. It was pure luxury, pure sin. A promise.
Malichai forced himself to pull away. He framed her face with both hands, looking into her eyes. A man could get lost there and he was certain it had happened to him. There wasn’t a way out and he didn’t want one.
“You kiss like sin, woman.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Did it feel bad?”
She shook her head. He tucked stray strands of her hair behind her ear, his heart still pounding, but his mood far lighter. She wasn’t running from him, and that was all that mattered. Her small frown had him trying to erase it with his finger.
“What is it?”
“Lights. To the front of the house. Police lights.” She rolled off him with that grace he had come to expect but that still bothered him. She was that little bit too graceful. When she got to her feet, she was already on the move. There was no awkward pause or being off-balance. She was always on the correct foot to lead off, so she just moved from one position to the next so easily.
He rolled over and watched her walk to the edge of the roof. She didn’t fear heights. She had perfect balance. She knew about him, at least something about him; he needed to take the opportunity to ask her questions. He didn’t want to, because more and more, he was becoming convinced that she was one of Whitney’s orphan girls and he didn’t want her to have to lie to him. That would hurt. He would understand, but it would still hurt.
“Malichai. The cops are here. I have to go down to Marie.” There was wariness in her voice.