Others might thrill to the crash and thunder of tumultuous passion. For Seremela, the most lethal thing in the world was exactly this kind of gentleness, this type of moment. They stood near enough to each other that she could see how his dark eyes had dilated, a subtle enough change in color that if she had stood even a few feet away, she wouldn’t have caught it. He looked at her intently, his face sharpened with that same electric expression that pierced through his gaze, yet he touched her as lightly as snowflakes drifting down to rest on her sensitive skin.
She was intensely aware of each of the four small points of contact, even more so because she could barely feel them, and they held so steady, so steady, as he looked deep into her eyes. That single, innocent touch was almost unbelievably erotic. The steady light contact said things, and the very fact that he paused so long meant that he made sure she heard it.
It said his exquisite gentleness was no accident. It said he had to be intimately aware of the placement and position of her body to achieve such a delicate, butterfly touch. It said he touched her because he wanted to touch her, and that he knew how to be gentle and tender, that he was confident and didn’t shy away from scrutiny, and that he could hold steady when he needed to.
It said he knew very well that she was clever enough to hear all of the nuances in his unspoken message.
Her breathing grew ragged. Her lips trembled as her snakes held him in position and he smiled into her eyes. And all he did was touch her cheek.
“Are you ready to go?” he said quietly, his fabulous, famous voice pitched for her ears alone.
And that was it, man, she just about came right there in her pants. The fact that she didn’t was a miracle. She should be glad about it, since she could hope to maintain some semblance of dignity….
She glanced sideways at her snakes which had locked around him. One had wrapped around his biceps so far it was peering at her upside down, from underneath his arm.
Yeah well, she might not be able to maintain dignity exactly.
LET GO! she ordered. It was as stern a mental voice as she had ever used on them.
She must have startled them because they loosened and slipped back over her shoulders. Grateful, she took a deep breath and stepped back. She said aloud, somewhat hoarsely, “Yes, I’m ready.”
He inclined his sleek, dark head with a smile, stepped inside and picked up her carry-on, while she looked around her apartment one last time, checked to make sure she had her iPhone, and shut and locked the door as they left.
Internally she was flipping rapidly through her Rolodex of teeming emotions. What to label this feeling? She had roared through embarrassment several minutes ago, so nah, that wasn’t it. As they rode the elevator down to the garage in silence, she finally had to admit, she didn’t know what she felt. She had never felt it before, so it wasn’t in her Rolodex.
She did know the emotion held a large amount of shock and amazement.
Because all he did was touch her cheek.
And now all she could do was wonder, what else could he say in that silent, sensual language of his?
What poems could his fingers whisper as they danced across her skin?
What eloquent prose could he share with his body?
She had assumed they would be flying out of the Miami International Airport and was surprised when Duncan drove them instead toward Kendall-Tamiami Executive Airport, thirteen miles southwest of downtown Miami. Breaking the silence for the first time since they had left her apartment, she said, “I didn’t know there were any commercial flights out of this airport.”
He gave her a brief smile. “There aren’t, but there are corporate flights. We’re not taking a commercial flight. We’re using the agency plane.”
“Oh, I see.”
The possibility hadn’t even crossed her mind, and she was frankly staggered. Rune and Carling had given her so much already. Carling had given her a papyrus sketch she had made in ancient Egypt, of a long-dead, half serpent, half human woman who, according to legend, had founded the medusa race. While the worth of the sketch didn’t matter to Carling, the fact remained that it would still fetch a small fortune from a museum if Seremela ever chose to sell it. Then there was the new job, for which they paid her an extremely competitive salary, gave her a great benefit package and even paid for her relocation expenses. Now they gave her an unspecified amount of time off and were lending their agency plane.
When they returned, she would have to thank them properly, in person. The least she could do was have them over for supper. Carling could enjoy an excellent bottle of wine, and Rune certainly had a hearty enough appetite for several normal men combined.
Her gaze slid sideways to Duncan. Perhaps Duncan could join them. She smiled, feeling warm all over at the thought.
They parked, and Seremela glanced at the sky again as they exited the car. To the north, the sky had turned almost entirely blue. She could see the rays of sunshine spilling over the edge of dark clouds like laser beams. Her stomach tightened at the sight, and she turned to Duncan anxiously.