Six Hot Single Dads. Lynne Marshall

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      The song changed, but Marcus kept her close as if he had no intention of letting go. “People are staring at us, you know.”

      What was it about his voice that made her so weak in the knees? “I noticed.”

      “I wonder what they’re all thinking.”

      She swallowed hard but couldn’t stop the words coming next. “They’re all wondering if we’re in love.”

      “Ah, right. Love.” He shook his head. “Your public will become that much more fascinated by you if they think the matchmaker is in love.”

      “So I’m told.”

      “And you believe all of that business about there being a true love for everyone? Or is it just for the show?”

      Funny, but no one else had ever asked her that question. “I do believe it.”

      Marcus took a look around the dance floor. All eyes were indeed trained on them. “I’m tempted to give them a show, you know. If nothing else, we could shut up that horrible Maryann woman.”

      Again, his rich, buttery accent was working its way into her. He could have read her the side of a cereal box and she would’ve been mesmerized. “What did you have in mind?”

      “If we do it, I think we start slowly, give them a taste of what’s to come.”

      Her mind raced at the mention of “do it,” especially since she was reasonably certain he didn’t mean “it.” She had to stay focused if she was going to remain composed. “Of course. We wouldn’t want to go too fast.” Except that she was thinking about nothing but going very fast, away from this party, away with him.

      “I could start by kissing your cheek, whispering in your ear that you look beautiful tonight.” He did exactly that as he said it, his warm lips on her face, his hot breath against her ear, skimming the slope of her neck.

      Her head was swimming, but a compulsion rose up in her, a need to use this as an excuse to push boundaries just as he had. She reached up and dug her hand into the thick hair at his nape, grazed his ear with her thumb. That one brush of skin on skin was enough to send her into blissful oblivion especially when his mouth parted ever so slightly. “Beautiful, huh? You told me I looked fine.”

      His eyes were intense, darkening as he focused on her in the soft light of the ballroom. All sound receded. Movement around them slowed. “I lied. You look spectacular.”

      Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “And you might be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. Damn you.”

      He cupped the side of her face, looking at her as if he’d been planning this all along. There was no hesitation in his eyes, just sheer will and determination. Her heart thumped wildly. His gaze stripped away every defense she had. It felt as if she was stark naked on that dance floor. His face drew closer. His eyes drifted shut. She followed suit. Before she could take a breath, he claimed his kiss.

      A frantic flutter started in her chest. The sensation of his giving lips on hers, the wonder of his warmth, spread to her stomach, blanketed her shoulders and legs, heated her cheeks. She rose to her tiptoes and arched into him. Finally. A kiss. His approach was commanding and entirely self-assured, his grasp on her so firm. She wasn’t sure she’d ever been kissed so masterfully. Then came his tongue, soft and sensual. Gentle. Dizzying.

      When they came up for air, her head was in the clouds. Flashes of light surrounded them. So this was what it was like to see fireworks. She’d never been kissed like that. No other man had been in the same league of Marcus’s intensity—not even James, who’d been a damn good kisser.

      “I hope we gave them what they wanted,” he whispered, his eyelids heavy.

      She nodded, not knowing what to say, hypnotized by the vision of his lips, wondering what her mouth had to do to invite his to be all over her—her neck, her chest, her everything. If she felt naked and he had the nerve to kiss her, he might as well do it for real. She turned, squinting. Photographers. Cameras. A barrage of flashing lights.

      “Because I know I got what I wanted,” he muttered.

       Six

      “We should go.” Ashley gazed up at Marcus, his physical presence making it damn near impossible to think. So instead, she relied on what her body told her to do. Her only honest desire at that moment was to be alone with him. Either he’d act as if the kiss had been a mistake, in which case she definitely didn’t want anyone within earshot. Or he’d want more. In that case, she wanted a clear, horizontal landing spot. She might never catch him in this mood again.

      “You don’t have to stay?” he asked.

      She shook her head. She knew she’d catch flack for leaving early, but she didn’t care—he’d rendered her unable to think through the ramifications of anything. “No. I don’t want to answer questions about the kiss. It’s my party and I’ve had enough.” Her arm hooked in his, punctuating her declaration.

      “Right, then.”

      They made their exit, Ashley feeling as antsy as she’d felt in a long time, but also loving the feeling of stealing away with Marcus. As guest of honor, Ashley had earned the right to have her limo waiting outside the hotel. They were whisked away into the New York City night, where true dark did not exist—too many lights, too much commotion.

      Sitting this close to him, the tingle of his lips still on hers, it was all she could do to remain a lady and wait for a sign, some indication of what he was thinking. Her breaths were shallow as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen no matter how much of it she sucked in. She glanced over at him, and he acknowledged her with half a smile.

      “Some night, huh?” he asked.

      She scoured her brain for something impossibly sexy to say but couldn’t come up with much. “It ended better than I thought it would.”

      He laughed quietly, but she wasn’t in the mood for him taking her answer as comedy. Silently but deliberately, she planted her left hand on the seat between them, palm up, asking for his touch without a single word. She wanted him to look at her, but his sights were set on her hand. Was this the right thing to do? It felt as if it was, but maybe that was the influence of his kiss. Her heart, having no clue as to how he’d respond, chose to canter with all the grace of a newborn filly.

      After several agonizing moments, he reached for her hand, but he didn’t actually take it. Instead, his fingers caressed the cup of her palm, back and forth.

      “This is the life line,” he said, tracing the one that started near her thumb and curved down to the heel of her hand.

      Her normally restless self was as enthralled as could be by his touch, which sent excitement bubbling up inside her. She turned to him. Wherever any of this led, she wanted it, but they had blocks to go until they’d be back to their building. The thought of waiting was an excruciating one, but she also knew better than to start things in the limousine. Keep your clothes on, Ash.

      “If I remember correctly, yours says that you’re someone people count on in difficult times,” he said.

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