Touch of Smoke by Karissa Laurel

Author:Karissa Laurel [Laurel, Karissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: urban fantasy, paranormal romance, contemporary romance, romance
Publisher: Red Adept Publishing, LLC
Published: 2019-02-11T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Temptation

WHEN I OPENED MY EYES to total darkness, my groggy brain assumed morning was still a long way off. Owen shifted beside me, and I realized his body was pressed against mine and his heavy arm draped over my waist had awoken me. Sometime between falling asleep and finding him wrapped around me, I had lost my towel. Figures.

I wondered whether he was still sleeping. Maybe he hadn’t noticed.

“I’d let someone stab me a hundred times if it meant I got to wake up like this afterward.” His finger stroked my hip.

Nope, definitely not asleep. His rough and growly voice was hot enough to melt an ice cube in Antarctica. His scent enveloped me in a familiar smoky sweetness. Potential energy tingled beneath my skin, as if my body were an explosive device and Owen was the mercury switch that would set it off if I made the wrong move.

“How are you feeling?” I cleared my throat. “Hurting?”

“I woke up a while ago, took some pills, drank some more Gatorade. Got back in bed with you.” He traced a fingertip along the rim of my ear and drew a line down my arm... shoulder... elbow... wrist. “I’d say I’m feeling pretty fantastic at the moment. How about you?”

Like my head might explode if I don’t roll over and wrap my legs around you right this minute. “I’m, um—”

He pressed his lips to the back of my neck and stroked his knuckles across my ribs. I released a long, low breath.

He chuckled. “What were you saying?”

He knew the effect he was having on me, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of putting it into words. “You’re a cocky bastard, aren’t you?”

“In this situation? I think I’m behaving rather admirably.”

“You’re wounded.”

He lowered his voice as his thumb brushed the underside of my breast. “Like I’d ever let that stop me.”

“You might not, but I would.” I swallowed, trying to relieve the dryness in my throat. “Primum non nocere.”

“What does that mean?”

“First, do no harm.” Part of me wanted to kick our principles—his admirable behavior and my concern for his injuries—right out the door. A larger part of me wanted more answers first. “You said if I was sweet, you’d tell me what ‘ya albi’ meant.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“I patched up your stab wound and probably saved your life. Does that count as being sweet?”

His body vibrated with silent laughter. “I guess it does.”

“So... are you going to tell me?”

“It’s Arabic, a term of endearment.” He pressed his flat palm to my stomach and slid his hand up, stroking the length of my sternum, between my breasts, stopping to curl his fingers around my neck at the base of my jaw. He clutched me in a possessive embrace, and I couldn’t work up the concern to object. “Ya albi. It means ‘my heart.’”

My own heart thudded, swollen, aching.

It wasn’t the only part of me that felt that way.

Throwing away caution, I rolled over to face him, pressing close, skin against skin.

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