Imaginary Lines (New York Leopards 3)

Affront that I had no right to filled me, and I didn’t even bother trying to squash it, knowing it would simply have to run its course. “Well, I hope you haven’t fallen for any of that.” My tone came out overly prim.

Which caused him to grin overtly. “Once or twice.”

I sat on my hands so I couldn’t cross my arms and look annoyed. “What did you do—buy them dresses and jewelry and whisk them away to private islands?”

He laughed, low and husky. “That didn’t even come close to sounding airy and uninterested.”

I watched him but said nothing.

He scooted forward so that his long legs reached out and his knees came close to touching mine. “And what would you ask for?”

My heart clenched and unclenched, heat and wind washing through my body, all the elements alive and pulsing. “There’s nothing I want.”

His dark eyes brightened. “Nothing?”

I raised my chin defiantly. “Nothing you have.”

“And what else is there?”

Our voices were soft, but we were so close we didn’t have to strain to hear each other. I could feel my pulse pounding, my blood rushing as my heart tumbled over at an impossible speed. “Things I can find myself.”

“Like?”

My eyes involuntarily flickered over to the list, still sitting on the top of my dresser, close to Ellie. Abe caught the motion. “You have a list?”

“Something like.”

“Let me see.”

I smiled. “Oh, you don’t need to know about all of it.”

“I think I do.” He stood and plucked the piece of paper off my dresser.

And at that moment I remembered my late night addition a week ago. “No!” I jumped up and threw myself at him without a second’s thought.

Eyes bright with laughter, he lifted the list above his head. I tried to snatch at it but all of my limbs were too short—Abe had a full head on me and even with my arm fully outstretched I couldn’t reach his. But the image of Abe reading Get over Abraham kept me leaping, determined to keep him from reading my desires.

He didn’t relent, instead dancing backward with the grace he usually reserved for the field, until he stood with his back against the wall. I swatted him, my light fists glancing off his warm arms. He grinned down at me a moment more, and I figured I could at least distract him even if I couldn’t win physically—and then he tilted his head back and angled the paper down.

I clamored atop the trunk at the foot of my bed and leaned across the space between us to trap his hand against the wall. It didn’t work; instead I lost my balance and fell into Abe. He managed to catch me, but the angle was awkward and he tripped himself, and in the next instant we tumbled across my bed. I sprawled across his chest, breathing quickly, my forearms resting on him, my hair draping down to tickle him.

His eyes were wide and clear and unblinking. They drew me in; I couldn’t look away from them. Instead, I shifted, until my whole body lined along his. He was hard and warm and solid and my body craved more touch, craved that our limbs and fingers and everything be entwined, that we be braided together until we couldn’t be separated.

The air shimmered between us. With each breath I took, I could feel my body pushing against his, my breasts full and aching as they strained against the fabric of my shirt. My hands smoothed down over his biceps, smooth as carved marble under my fingers, living marble. His hands ran down over my body, coming to rest in the small of my back, holding me tight against him. I ached for those hands to keep moving, to keep roaming. My breath hitched but our locked gazes never faltered.

He pulled me down and kissed me.

My lips opened under his and hot desire spread through my body, arching my back and my body toward him. His tongue glided deeply into my mouth, stroking and seducing, and I writhed against him. I wanted more of it, wanted the clothes between us to be gone. My core ached and my breath came short.

His hand slipped under my shirt. He took his time, his finger slowly winding their way up my side, caressing my hip and waist and ribs until he reached the underside of my breast. I let out a mew of pleasure as his thumb traced the bottom of my bra.

He rolled me over, a tumble of limbs and flesh. His weight above mine was welcome, desired, and I hooked one leg around his to bring him closer. One of my hands tangled in his hair, soft and thick and curling slightly around my fingers, while my other slid over the strong planes of his back. He skimmed my shirt up and off, a gentle rustle of fabric. Air kissed my skin ever so gently, and I gasped into his mouth as he deepened the kiss, exploring my mouth with a thoroughness that almost left me boneless.

Almost.

I placed my hand on his chest. It was a testament to his strength—and perhaps his willpower—that he braced his arms on either side of my body and held himself aloft above me. “What is it?”

“What are we doing?”