Marked

“Do you normally stalk women?” She tried to sound tough, but her voice trembled.

“No. Never,” I said honestly, my voice hard and serious. I wanted her to know I meant that. “But then again, I’ve never felt this way before.” I wasn’t going to beat around the bush. I’d just be honest, tell her the truth. The worst that could happen was she turned me down. That would just make me want her more… try even harder to convince her we had to get to know each other better.

She lifted an eyebrow. “Really.” She didn’t phrase it like a question. “I bet that has lots of ladies dropping their panties.”

I hated she thought that about me. I felt my expression sober even more, get serious. I took a step toward Izzy until I was crowding her. I was pleased she didn’t move back. “I only speak the truth, Izzy.” God, I loved saying her name. “I can’t tell you the last time I’ve been with a woman. Years.” Honesty was the best policy, right? I had to give her credit; she kept her expression neutral, although for just a second I saw her expression shift to surprise before she masked it. “So when I say I’ve never felt this way about a woman, that I’m not ashamed to follow her because I have to know more about her, that’s the truth.”

She swallowed, not speaking, and everything in me wanted to just pull her in and kiss her.

I was trying to keep my voice collected, trying to act like being so close to her didn’t affect me the way it did. But that would be a downright lie and impossible feat.

“You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same connection I do. It’s undeniable, Izzy.” I was so close to her that if I exhaled roughly, our chests would brush together. She had her head tipped back so she could look into my face, and I wanted to lift my hand and cup her cheek, stroke my finger along her skin. I still remembered how soft she felt, how she molded perfectly to me.

I looked down at her hand that held the plate, her fingers wrapped tightly around the edge, her knuckles white. It was like she was gripping on for dear life, as if my words affected her so much she could barely control herself. Good. I wanted her so on edge she couldn’t deny it, couldn’t lie to me about it.

“Tell me the truth,” I said roughly, almost begging her to be honest.

She inhaled sharply and licked her lips, and I couldn’t help but lower my gaze to the sight, watching as her pink tongue ran over her smooth, pink, and supple bottom lip. God, her mouth was delectable. My heart started beating a little harder and faster at the images slamming through my head, ones with me pressing my mouth to hers, slipping my tongue between the seam of her lips, and claiming her in every possible way.

“I feel it too,” she admitted on a whisper.

I didn’t hold back my groan, this rough sound that left me, vibrating my chest, seeming more feral than anything else.

“I felt it but thought I was crazy.”

I loved how she was being so open and honest with me. I loved how she wasn’t afraid to tell me how she felt, even though I was sure she was just as scared of the situation as I was.

“Then let’s do something about that.” There were a hundred different things I could’ve suggested, ones that would leave us sweaty and stated, unable to walk the next day. And as much as I wanted to do those things tenfold, I needed to get to know her. I needed her to get to know me.

I needed us to fall down the rabbit hole together and explore what this was between us.

“I don’t know how long you’re in the city, but let me take you out. Let me get to know you better.”

I watched as she thought about it, and I was afraid she’d say no. Not a lot of things scared the shit out of me… but her rejection terrified me.

“Okay. Dinner, Tommy.”

I felt my grin spread across my face as euphoria filled me. I felt like a fucking kid at Christmas. Now, I just had to convince her tonight wouldn’t be the last time I saw her.

Should be easy enough, because I was one persistent asshole when it came to what I wanted, and I never wanted anything more than I did Izzy.

Chapter Eight

Izzy

Nadine hadn’t cared about me going tonight. In fact, she’d still been nursing her hangover all day, had stayed in her pajamas, and had a stockpile of water bottles on the bed as she watched some romance movie.

I left her complaining about feeling sick, possibly having to kiss the toilet bowl, and how she’s never drinking again.