When my mother walks us to the door shortly thereafter and Malcolm asks me if I’m coming back with him, I blush and nod. I’m not even going to pretend I don’t want to be with him right now.
He says goodbye to my mother, and then he speaks again, without hesitation or apology. “I’m not good at making promises. But I would like you to know I’ve never been serious about a girl until I met your daughter, and now that I know I’m the first man she’s brought home, I’m aiming to be the last.”
I’m red to the roots of my hair.
Oh. My.
Did Saint just say this to my mother?
“No promise needed. Just be good to her,” she whispers, heartfelt to him. Then— “Please. Take dessert with you. I won’t eat it and you two can share it later. It’s Rachel’s favorite,” she adds, bringing over the pie, tightly covered in aluminum foil.
After I hug and thank her and she gives me this huge, huge smile that screams at me how much she likes him, how appeased she is about us having—possibly—a relationship, my heart feels content.
Saint walks me over to his car, opens the door, and when I settle in, he leans over to latch my seat belt. As his fingers graze me, my sexy parts start aching. How can Saint make something as simple as a homey dinner feel like foreplay?
I think he knows I’m burning.
Because the next second, he grabs the back of my head and kisses me.
The kiss is slow and so yummy that my thighs clench. I hazily wonder if I’ll ever grow used to his kisses. Strong and sure, he tongue-fucks my mouth. When he adds gentle sucking motions on my tongue, I tighten my hold on his shoulders.
“What was that for?”
“For me.” He smiles as his thumb strokes the corner of my lips.
He shuts the door, goes around the car with a hot and satisfied look on his face, and then settles behind the wheel. As we head out of the neighborhood, I notice he drives slower than he usually does —probably because of the pie riding at my feet—and I mull out loud, “I wonder what my father would have thought of you. Would he have hated or admired that you’re so powerful?”
He lifts one brow. “Let’s put it this way. My own father can’t stand me. I don’t expect anyone else’s to.”
“Weak men don’t like strong men, they remind them of what they failed to be.”
Now both brows go up, and he shoots me such an admiring look, I almost swell inside. He cups my face and touches his thumb to the corner of my mouth. “My father’s not weak, but he’s stubborn and selfish.” He shifts gears, his thumb ring glinting as he does.
“My dad definitely would have warned me off you, for sure . . . but I don’t know, Sin.” Turning my head dreamily in the seat so I can get a good eyeful of the candy that Saint driving his car is, I sigh. “I think he’d admire you very much.”
“My mother would’ve loved you, baby.” With a tender curving of his lips, he reaches out and tips my chin up. “Who could not love you?”
“You,” I say, then my hands fly up and I cover my mouth. “Ohmigod, don’t say anything.”
His eyes are alight with amusement as he opens his mouth.
“DON’T SAY ANYTHING! IT DOESN’T COUNT!”
Saint just laughs huskily. “Rach—”
“DON’T! DON’T DENY IT, DON’T ACCEPT IT, JUST DON’T. I’m so sorry; I don’t know why I said that. I went fishing for it and it’s not fair to you.”
I start laughing and he pulls over and stops the car, grabs me with both hands and kisses me. Not a peck. A kiss I can feel in my knees and that makes my lungs spread open as I try to breathe.
“Don’t,” I plead when he’s done.
“I’m not saying anything,” he says innocently.
“Okay. Please don’t.”
I’m shaking from wanting him to say it now. Say something. Maybe he doesn’t feel it. Maybe I should’ve let him speak. Maybe I couldn’t take what he’d have said. Urgh. I can’t even look at him right now. I stare out the window as he pulls us back into traffic and feel my stomach flip when he takes my hand and gives it a squeeze, and I love him even more for that alone. Whatever his reply might have been, he’s still holding my hand. He’s still here with me.
But when I remain silent, he slows down the car a little bit and leans over and kisses my mouth softly, one hand on the wheel, the other on the back of my head.
“What was that for?” I lick my lips, look at his mouth.
He says goodbye to my mother, and then he speaks again, without hesitation or apology. “I’m not good at making promises. But I would like you to know I’ve never been serious about a girl until I met your daughter, and now that I know I’m the first man she’s brought home, I’m aiming to be the last.”
I’m red to the roots of my hair.
Oh. My.
Did Saint just say this to my mother?
“No promise needed. Just be good to her,” she whispers, heartfelt to him. Then— “Please. Take dessert with you. I won’t eat it and you two can share it later. It’s Rachel’s favorite,” she adds, bringing over the pie, tightly covered in aluminum foil.
After I hug and thank her and she gives me this huge, huge smile that screams at me how much she likes him, how appeased she is about us having—possibly—a relationship, my heart feels content.
Saint walks me over to his car, opens the door, and when I settle in, he leans over to latch my seat belt. As his fingers graze me, my sexy parts start aching. How can Saint make something as simple as a homey dinner feel like foreplay?
I think he knows I’m burning.
Because the next second, he grabs the back of my head and kisses me.
The kiss is slow and so yummy that my thighs clench. I hazily wonder if I’ll ever grow used to his kisses. Strong and sure, he tongue-fucks my mouth. When he adds gentle sucking motions on my tongue, I tighten my hold on his shoulders.
“What was that for?”
“For me.” He smiles as his thumb strokes the corner of my lips.
He shuts the door, goes around the car with a hot and satisfied look on his face, and then settles behind the wheel. As we head out of the neighborhood, I notice he drives slower than he usually does —probably because of the pie riding at my feet—and I mull out loud, “I wonder what my father would have thought of you. Would he have hated or admired that you’re so powerful?”
He lifts one brow. “Let’s put it this way. My own father can’t stand me. I don’t expect anyone else’s to.”
“Weak men don’t like strong men, they remind them of what they failed to be.”
Now both brows go up, and he shoots me such an admiring look, I almost swell inside. He cups my face and touches his thumb to the corner of my mouth. “My father’s not weak, but he’s stubborn and selfish.” He shifts gears, his thumb ring glinting as he does.
“My dad definitely would have warned me off you, for sure . . . but I don’t know, Sin.” Turning my head dreamily in the seat so I can get a good eyeful of the candy that Saint driving his car is, I sigh. “I think he’d admire you very much.”
“My mother would’ve loved you, baby.” With a tender curving of his lips, he reaches out and tips my chin up. “Who could not love you?”
“You,” I say, then my hands fly up and I cover my mouth. “Ohmigod, don’t say anything.”
His eyes are alight with amusement as he opens his mouth.
“DON’T SAY ANYTHING! IT DOESN’T COUNT!”
Saint just laughs huskily. “Rach—”
“DON’T! DON’T DENY IT, DON’T ACCEPT IT, JUST DON’T. I’m so sorry; I don’t know why I said that. I went fishing for it and it’s not fair to you.”
I start laughing and he pulls over and stops the car, grabs me with both hands and kisses me. Not a peck. A kiss I can feel in my knees and that makes my lungs spread open as I try to breathe.
“Don’t,” I plead when he’s done.
“I’m not saying anything,” he says innocently.
“Okay. Please don’t.”
I’m shaking from wanting him to say it now. Say something. Maybe he doesn’t feel it. Maybe I should’ve let him speak. Maybe I couldn’t take what he’d have said. Urgh. I can’t even look at him right now. I stare out the window as he pulls us back into traffic and feel my stomach flip when he takes my hand and gives it a squeeze, and I love him even more for that alone. Whatever his reply might have been, he’s still holding my hand. He’s still here with me.
But when I remain silent, he slows down the car a little bit and leans over and kisses my mouth softly, one hand on the wheel, the other on the back of my head.
“What was that for?” I lick my lips, look at his mouth.
