eyes, to the base of her throat, where her pulse fluttered to a wild, chaotic beat. "What kind of question is that?" she whispered.
"Do you always answer questions with a question?" he asked, arching one ink-black brow.
She tore her gaze away from his, focusing on a distant point against the faded, pale green walls. "Neither one was particularly likable."
"Ouch." With a gruff chuckle, Ian rubbed at his chest with his free hand, acting as if he'd been wounded. "This night's proving hell on my ego."
Her gaze shot back to his, her tone sharp with frustration as she said, "You know I don't mean it like that. It has nothing to do with you. With what happened between us. I was just too frightened in both to--"
"Bullshit," he suddenly grated, narrowing his eyes, and for the first time since she'd opened the door to him, she saw that dark vein of bitterness that was so much a part of him rise to the surface. "Maybe in the second one, yeah, after we ended up in the woods. But you weren't afraid in the beginning, when you were under me, in that room. And you weren't afraid in the first dream, either."
"How do you know?" she demanded, the heat in her face so intense, she knew she probably looked sunburned.
Molly didn't think he was going to answer, until he hardened his jaw and gave her two simple, husky words. "The smiles."
Her voice was stuck in her throat as he let go of her wrist and rolled to his feet. "You smiled at me. Both times." A gritty edge roughened his words--one that sounded suspiciously like...she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Not embarrassment. She doubted anything could ever embarrass a man like Ian Buchanan. No, it was more vulnerable than that...almost breakable.
She watched him shake it off, his cocky arrogance rising back to the fore. His mouth curled with a boyish grin, a devilish dimple flashing in his shadowed cheek that made him look younger. Less harsh. "At least that second dream answered one question."
There was a soft catch to her voice as she said, "I'm almost afraid to ask."
He reached out, tweaking the end of her nose in a playful gesture completely at odds with the hard-edged hunger still lingering in those raging blue eyes. "I definitely didn't imagine how good you felt the first time, Molls. Because this time, you felt even better."
Molly swallowed, unsure of how to respond. Thank you? My pleasure? How can you be the same man who ordered me to stay the hell away from you not twenty-four hours ago? Her indecision didn't matter, because in the end, all she could manage was a breathless, red-faced silence.
Cupping her jaw, he stroked his thumb against the corner of her mouth once...twice, his gaze focused with sharp intensity on her trembling lips, their surface extra sensitive after that incendiary kiss. "I'll go grab that shower now."
Swallowing the shaky feeling in her throat, Molly watched his backside as he walked away, thinking it was entirely unfair for a guy to look that gorgeous from the front and back. It was the first time she'd ever seen him from behind when he wasn't shrouded in shadows, and she couldn't help but admire the view. The wet jeans were streaked with dirt, but they still hugged his muscled backside to perfection, as well as his powerful thighs.
Her gaze traveled higher, over the sleek, stunning beauty of his back, the deep furrows of muscle that lined his spine, higher, lifting to his broad shoulders, and she suddenly gasped, unable to believe what she was seeing. Shock slammed through her with whipcord strength the instant she spotted the dark, intricate tattoo between his shoulder blades. She didn't know why the image affected her so strongly--she only knew that she felt its power like a physical touch thrumming against her senses, intimate and deep. It was uniquely beautiful. A thick cross, like a Maltese, with four equal arms, the surface covered in what looked like tiny, intricate symbols.
"Ian," she whispered, her voice soft with amazement.
He
"Do you always answer questions with a question?" he asked, arching one ink-black brow.
She tore her gaze away from his, focusing on a distant point against the faded, pale green walls. "Neither one was particularly likable."
"Ouch." With a gruff chuckle, Ian rubbed at his chest with his free hand, acting as if he'd been wounded. "This night's proving hell on my ego."
Her gaze shot back to his, her tone sharp with frustration as she said, "You know I don't mean it like that. It has nothing to do with you. With what happened between us. I was just too frightened in both to--"
"Bullshit," he suddenly grated, narrowing his eyes, and for the first time since she'd opened the door to him, she saw that dark vein of bitterness that was so much a part of him rise to the surface. "Maybe in the second one, yeah, after we ended up in the woods. But you weren't afraid in the beginning, when you were under me, in that room. And you weren't afraid in the first dream, either."
"How do you know?" she demanded, the heat in her face so intense, she knew she probably looked sunburned.
Molly didn't think he was going to answer, until he hardened his jaw and gave her two simple, husky words. "The smiles."
Her voice was stuck in her throat as he let go of her wrist and rolled to his feet. "You smiled at me. Both times." A gritty edge roughened his words--one that sounded suspiciously like...she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Not embarrassment. She doubted anything could ever embarrass a man like Ian Buchanan. No, it was more vulnerable than that...almost breakable.
She watched him shake it off, his cocky arrogance rising back to the fore. His mouth curled with a boyish grin, a devilish dimple flashing in his shadowed cheek that made him look younger. Less harsh. "At least that second dream answered one question."
There was a soft catch to her voice as she said, "I'm almost afraid to ask."
He reached out, tweaking the end of her nose in a playful gesture completely at odds with the hard-edged hunger still lingering in those raging blue eyes. "I definitely didn't imagine how good you felt the first time, Molls. Because this time, you felt even better."
Molly swallowed, unsure of how to respond. Thank you? My pleasure? How can you be the same man who ordered me to stay the hell away from you not twenty-four hours ago? Her indecision didn't matter, because in the end, all she could manage was a breathless, red-faced silence.
Cupping her jaw, he stroked his thumb against the corner of her mouth once...twice, his gaze focused with sharp intensity on her trembling lips, their surface extra sensitive after that incendiary kiss. "I'll go grab that shower now."
Swallowing the shaky feeling in her throat, Molly watched his backside as he walked away, thinking it was entirely unfair for a guy to look that gorgeous from the front and back. It was the first time she'd ever seen him from behind when he wasn't shrouded in shadows, and she couldn't help but admire the view. The wet jeans were streaked with dirt, but they still hugged his muscled backside to perfection, as well as his powerful thighs.
Her gaze traveled higher, over the sleek, stunning beauty of his back, the deep furrows of muscle that lined his spine, higher, lifting to his broad shoulders, and she suddenly gasped, unable to believe what she was seeing. Shock slammed through her with whipcord strength the instant she spotted the dark, intricate tattoo between his shoulder blades. She didn't know why the image affected her so strongly--she only knew that she felt its power like a physical touch thrumming against her senses, intimate and deep. It was uniquely beautiful. A thick cross, like a Maltese, with four equal arms, the surface covered in what looked like tiny, intricate symbols.
"Ian," she whispered, her voice soft with amazement.
He
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