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boring.”
    Blake raised a querulous eyebrow and forced back a grin. “That I find very hard to believe,” he said, and this time his eyes moved up to her chest where both breasts prodded against the fabric. Lily gulped, feeling her own innate desires swell against some inexplicable force. “You seem like a fascinating woman. And I’m not just saying that.”
    “Well, you’ll make me blush,” she laughed, “if you’re not careful.”
    Then, quite unexpectedly, Blake stood up and took two steps toward her. Lily held her breath and felt her heart rate suddenly spike. This close to him, she could tell that there was more to his appearance—the funeral attire had concealed something of the true grit that seemed to be iconic of his gang, and she felt herself inexplicably turned on.
    “This is good wine,” he whispered, holding his empty cup toward her.
    “Do you want more?”
    He shook his head and set the glass down on the bedside table, looming over her dangerously. There was an animal smell to him, something intangible, that hovered at the edge of her periphery—she couldn’t put her finger on it, and it was annoying. But at the same time, she couldn’t help but acknowledge the strange charisma he seemed to have, both on the other members of his gang and women alike.
    “I think I’ve had enough,” he murmured, his breath almost glazing her face, “and what I’m thirsty for can’t be sated by wine.”
    Lily stood up, almost against her will—the two parts of her brain were competing, raging against one another. Her professional side wanted to continue to probe Blake, to unearth whatever it was she could tell he was hiding. The other side, the woman side of her, couldn’t help but be swayed by his masculine aura. As she stood up, Blake took half a step back, and the two stood face-to-face. Blake’s chest rose and fell with each breath, and she found herself trying to catch her own.
    “What are we doing?” she half-whispered.
    Blake gently reached toward her and stroked her cheek with his thumb, and she saw that there was a strange script tattooed on his knuckles, something that looked archaic. She closed her eyes and leaned into it, even as that ever-serious part of her brain screamed at her. You’re getting too close!
    But how long had it been since she’d been close to another man? In all earnestness, too long. She had tried the dating scene back in town, but that had only caused her to distrust men all the more. The sort she kept ending up meeting were more concerned with their ego than presenting an honest appraisal of themselves, but she also knew that the reason for that may have been her own success and assertiveness; more than once her female colleagues had commented on the fact that the other men in the office were intimidated by her.
    But this was different somehow. She found herself already giving in to him and reached toward his face as well. The small bristles of a dirty-blond five o’clock shadow tickled under her fingertips as she stared into his eyes, and it was like having a quarry stare back; it was cold and thrilling and she held her breath again as he leaned down toward her.
    His lips, when they touched hers, were hot. Hotter than she’d expected—and even as she moved her lips against his, pressing and pushing, she felt the heat of it start to rise. Blake’s breath moved between her lips and into her mouth and she tasted him on the top of her tongue, a kind of heavy moisture. Blake’s hands pushed out in front as he gripped her shoulders and moved them roughly over the sweater, lingering toward her lower back. Lily’s small frame pressed up against his body which was hard as a tree trunk, and she felt dwarfed by him all of a sudden as she leaned her head back, tipping her mouth into his like a hungry bowl accepting the gratefulness of water.
    She opened her mouth wider as he cocked his head, and his tongue darted into her mouth, licking hard against her white teeth and she