The whole time I was getting ready, I kept sneaking glances in the mirror and I was amazed by what I saw looking back at me.
I’m still shocked by what I see as I apply the finishing touches to my lips. I am basically glowing. My eyes are bright, my skin looks smooth, the dress looks like it was made for me, and the smile on my face reflects everything I feel inside.
Which is overwhelming, giddy excitement.
I’m tucking my lipstick and makeup into a small clutch purse when the doorbell rings. My heart trips in my chest as I start for the door. I take a deep breath and turn the knob.
And standing in front of me is the most delectable man on this planet.
Gulp!
Dressed in slim black slacks and a dark gray shirt, the man looks like the deadliest guilty pleasure.
He takes his time drinking me in with a burning warmth in his copper eyes, starting at the tip of my head and traveling to my lips, my breasts, my stomach, and the tips of my freshly painted toes.
I hear him inhale sharply, and the gaze I am met with when he finally meets my eyes steals my next breath.
I see pure, unrestrained lust, and a glimmer of something else. Something possessive. Something feral, something forbidden.
I feel like a switch went off in his head, I feel like his eyes hold a promise in them.
“Olivia,” he says. Low.
“Callan.”
He smirks, then takes two steps toward me and puts his hands on my waist, pulling me to him and wrapping me up in his intoxicating and delicious smell. He looks down at me and whispers something under his breath.
The next thing I know, he dips his head and places his warm, smooth lips on my neck. He kisses and rubs them across my neck, and I can feel my legs turn to Jell-O. His hand cradles the side of my face as his lips travel to my cheek, where he whispers in my ear, “You look good enough to eat.”
“Thank you,” I breathe.
“You ready?”
I’m about as ready as can be. I nod. “So we’re doing this.” I laugh nervously. I duck my head. “Just one date, okay?”
“One date for now.” He gently runs his thumb along my lower lip. A rueful smile curves his mouth. “Did you think I only wanted to sleep with you, Livvy?” he asks.
I swallow.
“Was that what you thought I was asking for?”
I’m breathless and flushed, because maybe I did think that.
He moves his hand as if ready to brush my hair back, but instead he peers into my face. “That’s not what I want from you. I like you too much. I enjoy being with you.” He leans closer and absently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m enjoying that shy little pink shade on your cheeks quite a bit right now.”
I smile and eye him. “Where are we going?”
“Depends on whether we make it out of here. It’s taking every ounce of my willpower not to take you back into your bedroom and bury my head between your legs.”
I suck in a sudden startled breath. “Callan!” I lightly smack his shoulder.
He takes the hand that smacked him and looks me in the eye, his stare unapologetic as he kisses my knuckles. He grins. “Come on.”
He leads me to the elevator and down to his car.
He drives us in his Range Rover Sport while I silently rationalize my actions.
Callan seems at ease with what’s about to happen, while I sit in a mess of hormones on the front passenger seat.
He drums his fingers as we’re stuck at a stoplight for a while. “Fucking traffic,” he growls. He lifts his thumb to my face and traces a dent in my cheekbone with his knuckle. “What are you thinking?”
“You know what,” I groan.
He smiles. He’s not as calm as I think he is, his eyes blazing with hunger. I have never enjoyed a feeling the way I enjoy the way he makes me feel. Grown up, but vulnerable like a little girl. Thrilled but almost scared, as I am when I get too close to the ledge. Warm in all places and like my body got plugged into an electric outlet. My nipples hard, my panties wet.
“I sometimes wonder if I imagined everything that happened the other nights. I’m not sure you’re really as good as my memories claim.”
“I’m better.” He smiles and shoots me an intent stare. “I’m looking forward to tasting you this time, Livvy, sucking that pussy of yours for a long, hard while.”
“Oral?”
“That’s right. It’s driving me crazy not to know what you taste like.”
I clutch my thighs together.
Goodness!
I’m boiling in my skin.
His Range Rover Sport is all man. Smooth, dark leather and an engine that sounds like a monster ready to be unleashed. It’s the kind of car that he tampered with to make fully his—with modifications like a matte finish and a different grille and custom wheels.
People stare as we drive by.
“Don’t worry,” he says, reading my thoughts, “the windows are tinted.”
I gulp and nod, feeling my stomach tie itself up in knots.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“My place. I’m cooking for you.”
My heart rate doubles as I realize we’re going to be alone. In his mansion.
Before I finish that thought, he reaches out his hand, palm up, silently asking me to hold it.
Callan Carmichael wants to hold my hand.
I swallow and try to still the throbbing, reckless beat of my heart.
I feel like a teenager again.
I turn to look and see him staring out at the road, his other hand at the top of the wheel, with a cocky smirk on his face. His profile is stunning, with light scruff on his jaw. His hair looks soft and sexy with a slightly messy look, his nose and jaw perfectly defined. His lips smooth and pink, promising a thousand dirty pleasures. His face looks like it was carved by an angel.