Silver Fox (Silver Shifters 2)

He sipped his rapidly cooling coffee as Doris breathed out a soft sigh. She had to have risen early to begin cooking prep.

“I always love this time after a successful night,” he said. “Nothing much more to be done—another good memory added. Though those memories have built up to a pretty respectable number, somehow pulling off a great evening makes me feel young again. And I have to admit, Queen Esther helps.”

Doris chuckled, an endearing sound that shot straight to his core.

“I feel like a teenager,” she admitted in a low voice. “That is, the sort of teenager I never was,” she added wryly.

It was the first time she’d ever talked about herself, and Joey thrilled to the small victory.

“What, you were not the neighborhood expert at Truth or Dare?” he teased.

In the reflected golden light from the windows above, Doris’s eyes gleamed with humor, her cheeks rosy with color. He loved the enchanting upward curves in her face, evidence of her innate good nature. He’d never seen so free a smile from her, and he wanted so badly to take that dear face in his hands and kiss her silly, that he set his mug on the balcony rail and clasped his fingers tightly behind his back.

She put her cup down next to his. “Will I sound like the worst sort of party pooper if I admit that I’ve never played even once?”

“Not the least. There are lots of games I never played. Truth or Dare was my favorite.”

“I don’t even know the rules.”

“One player asks a question of another

player, and gives them the option of answering with the truth, or choosing a dare instead. If they pick dare, the first player dares them to do something.”

Her brow furrowed. “It’s a trust game, it sounds like.”

“It can be. Or it can be just a fun challenge. So much depends on the questions.” And when she blinked at him, lips parted, he said, “For example. If I were to ask you . . . Have you ever wanted to run away from home and join the circus? Truth or Dare. Which would you pick?”

Doris gave a husky laugh. The softened lines in her face shifted from those lovely smile curves to question, then she drank the rest of her cup, and looked at Joey, blinking slowly. “What if . . . I said dare?”

“I would say,” he murmured, looking into her eyes, “I dare you to kiss me.”

TWELVE

DORIS

Doris had been enjoying the peaceful aftermath of a family dinner that had gone way better than she’d hoped. Of course the Brad Question was still there, but at least it hadn’t ruined the evening.

Now she was alone with Joey Hu.

And she liked it.

All the sensible reasons to stay away just didn’t seem to matter. She knew this recklessness was false courage, courtesy of Queen Esther cocktails. But she was so tired, and so relaxed, and so . . . warm.

And then he said that.

The trouble was, she wanted to kiss him. Very badly. For the first time in her life, she found herself staring at the soft curve of a man’s lips. She couldn’t look away from the deep dimples at either side of his entrancing mouth, simple evidence of that sunny sense of humor she was drawn to. She liked the shape of his eyes, the calm humor in their expression. No drama. Ever. Just good will, toward everyone.

And right now he was looking at her through those eyes, smiling gently with those lips she couldn’t stop looking at. Was that passion she saw in his face? It couldn’t be. She was not the sort to inspire passion in any man. Passion for her house and imagined bank account, yes—that explained Phil the Philanderer. She didn’t blame men for not feeling passion for her. She’d never really felt it herself.

Except she was feeling it now. That ball of warmth deep down inside her, she could call it all sorts of things, but she knew it was passion. Her breasts, familiar but basically useless body parts for so many years, tingled.

The man who had just helped her wash fifty kabillion dishes had dared her to kiss him.

Just do it, came a voice from deep in her, prompted by that hot, throbbing warmth down below.

She turned toward him, and found herself stepping closer. He hadn’t moved, and she sensed that he’d left the decision up to her, except what was to come next? Did she grab him? Pucker up like she was about to suck a lemon? What if her nose crunched into his?

Then he was there, his fingertips touching her cheeks along her jawline. Each fingertip sent zings down to that hot spot, which had flared into an inferno.