“Unlike your grandmother.”
The thought made her smile. “Unlike bubbeh. She doesn’t really understand what I do either, but she’s hella proud of me for doing it better than anyone else. I think she just never had any preconceived notions about what I was supposed to be, so she just sat back and watched what I became.” Kylie thought back to some rather loud conversations among Esther, her son, and her daughter-in-law. Those made her smile turn a little toothy. “Plus, she was less than impressed with how my parents dealt with me. We ended up spending a lot of time together. She’s kind of my hero.”
“I would be pleased to meet her one day.” His tone rang with sincerity and something else Kylie couldn’t name, but it made her belly tighten and twist.
The way the long fingers still gripping her hand continually teased and tangled with her own made it plain hard to breathe. What was he doing to her? For the past week, he’d made it his mission in life to avoid her as if she were a bubonic plague carrier. Then yesterday they were forced back into close quarters, and he wakes up this morning wanting to get all friendly and cozy? The man changed moods like the Bruins changed forward lines—every forty seconds or so.
Needing to regain some of that space between them, Kylie made as if to tug her hand away and stand. “Come on. There are still boxes to move, and they’ll be here in a few more hours.”
Dag tightened his grip and shook his head. “Later. Stay here.”
She huffed impatiently and pulled harder. “Let go.”
She didn’t see him exert so much as an ounce of effort, but one minute she stood next to the bed leaning her entire body toward the door and the next she found herself yanked off her feet and lying sprawled over the chest of a very pleased-with-himself gargoyle.
“No,” he eventually rumbled, black eyes glinting. “I do not wish to.”
Panic warred with excitement in Kylie’s chest, but either way, she used the surge of energy to attempt to free herself. “Dag, come on. We’ve got stuff to do. Let me go.”
Another swift move had their positions reversed, and Kylie gazed up into a very smug, smiling face. “I told you, I do not wish to let you go, and as it happens I have a few ideas of my own regarding activities that you and I need to perform right away.”
He actually wiggled his eyebrows when he said it, and Kylie found herself torn between amusement and panic as the pressure of his body on hers made perfectly clear that his innuendo had been entirely intentional.
How in the world had she gotten herself into this situation?
More importantly, did she want to bother trying to get out?
Her hormones cast their vote with a lusty, “Hello, sailor!” and tried to get her legs to spread wide and wrap themselves around Dag’s waist in preparation for a spirited ride. Her brain, on the other hand, hauled hard on the internal reins and shouted, “Down, girl!” as it attempted to seize control of the situation. It had some serious concerns with this entire concept, beginning with the whole different species thing, moving on to the way he had barely spoken to her for the last week, and circling around to the issue of his immortal life span and bad case of petronarcolepsy. Wouldn’t she have to be crazy to get involved with this guy?
Crazy-shmazy, her hormones shot back. Had she gotten a load of those muscles? Better to trace them all with her tongue now and worry about the details later. As in, sometime postcoital.
Confused and frustrated by the internal dialog, Kylie banged her head backward onto the mattress, wishing fleetingly that it was made of concrete instead of soft, cushiony foam and resilient pocketed springs. At this point, knocking herself unconscious might turn out to be her wisest move.
Then Dag snatched the decision right out of her brain with a murmur of, “Beautiful Kylie,” and the soft, intoxicating pressure of his lips against hers.
Oh, wow. She had almost forgotten just how good the man tasted, and right now that felt like a tragedy. To forget the glory of this would be to forget how to breathe, or the rich-spicy-nutty flavor of rugelach fresh out of the oven. It would make the angels weep and God shake his head. And, well, she couldn’t have that, now could she?