Against the Dark by Carolyn Crane Page A

darling.” He captured her with that devastating smile of his; he had a way of mesmerizing her. Was he doing it on purpose?
    And then he lowered his voice. “At the restaurant, you couldn’t keep your hands off me.” He spoke in a smooth, wistful way, like he was really remembering it. “All through dinner, all you could think about was we’d finally be alone, and where I would put my hands, where I would put my mouth.”
    Her face heated.
    “You had a skirt on. And by the time dessert arrived, you had your high heels off under the table and were you exploring me.”
    Her pulse thrummed in her neck. “ Exploring you?”
    He raised his brows. “Mercilessly.”
    “Definitely didn’t happen.”
    “You invited me in for dessert afterwards. Fresh baked cookies from that dough you keep in the fridge. But we never got that far.”
    “Dream on.” She tried to say it casually to cover the shot of panic she felt from being chained in place by his gaze, from being excited by his words. This man who was blackmailing her into a dangerous crime.
    He spread more peanut butter onto the rice cake, moving the knife slowly across the surface, creating heavy, velvety ripples. Even this was sensual in Cole’s hands. “You looked so hot, standing right there.” He glanced up. “You stood right where you are now, Angel, and you melted my mind.” He added another dollop, creating a thicker layer, spreading slowly. He paused and looked up again. “And I kissed you right up against that refrigerator, pushing your warm, soft body into that cold, hard surface. God, you felt good. And you were so ready to go. I pressed my fingers between your legs through your skirt—right at the spot that drives you wild. Kneaded you slow and sure.”
    She laughed in shock. “Kneaded me?”
    “Oh, yes, and you ground into my hand, what little you could move. You were so wet for me, you were practically dripping.”
    “Can’t say I recall that,” she said as his words invaded her senses, sliding over her skin like silk ribbons, turning her on. And he knew —she could see it in his eyes. Watching her, taunting her.
    “Then I pushed up your skirt. Slowly. You begged me to fuck you. You were so ready to go, baby, you were so ready to go. I couldn’t make you wait as long as it would take to carry you to the bed. I slid my hand into your panties. I slid my finger along the seam of your pussy.”
    She swallowed, blood racing. There he stood, clear on the other side of the kitchen island, but she felt like he was touching her.
    “My whole finger, Angel, all along your seam. One long, slow, firm length of a man’s finger. Slicked-up and calloused, running all along you. Front to back. Back to front. Front to back, slowly invading, pressing deeper. Do you remember how you moved with me?”
    “You’re crazy,” she whispered.
    His bangs had fallen in front of his glasses but he didn’t flick them away. It made him look out of control and slightly dangerous. “We were relentless together. You begged me not to stop, and then you bit my earlobe. Well, I have an ear thing, as you quickly learned. Feel free to take notes.” He paused and licked the knife. She watched, thinking about his tongue on her.
    His eyes danced with humor. He knew, of course. He was diabolical, this man.
    “You were helpless under my touch. A good helpless. The kind you like, Angel. I had you in the palm of my hand. Literally. You would’ve given me anything not to stop. And I took pity on you. I didn’t stop. I’m not the kind of guy to put a horny woman through the paces or make her beg. At least not until the third date or so.”
    She tried to speak, but no words came out. Her nipples felt taught with sensation. He pinned her still with that gaze.
    “Now, where was I? Oh, right. You, on the verge of begging, helpless under my touch. I kept it up, all that endless friction of my finger, my rough callouses slicked up. Slowly and relentlessly traveling along your folds,