Fierce by Rosalind James Page B

that. 
    I was pulling my hand away, scooting back, and he was sighing. 
    “Don’t run,” he said. “Please. I’m stopping. But get me back on track here. Tell me why I’m a butterfly. Make me laugh.”
    I cleared my throat. “I’m not sure I’m going to make you laugh. I think this might fall into the ‘stupid’ category. For me to say, I mean.”
    “Brilliant. I’m not a butterfly after all, eh. Go.”
    “Umm...I might be the…butterfly. And you might be a…spider.”
    “Ah.” His eyes had kindled, and I could tell that he was holding himself back, and that it was an effort. “Got you in my web, do I? You struggling a bit?” 
    I couldn’t speak, because he’d reached a hand out as if he couldn’t help himself any more than I could, and was running the backs of his fingers down my jawline. So slowly, and so gently. And then his thumb was tracing my lips, first the upper, then the lower, and, as they parted, running over the sensitive flesh inside. Moving a bit farther, and, yes, he had his thumb in my mouth up to the first knuckle, and my lips…well, they may have closed over that thumb.
    “Yeh,” he said, his voice pure molten chocolate. “Yeh. You’re struggling, but it’s such a delicious struggle, isn’t it? You’re thinking how sweet that sting’s going to feel. You’re scared of it, and you’re waiting for it, and your heart’s beating so hard.”
    Oh, boy. Oh, boy. “See,” I managed to say once I’d managed to turn my head, and he’d removed his hand. “Definitely in the ‘stupid’ category.”
    “Does it help,” he said, his eyes, every bit of his attention so focused on me, “if I tell you that I thought about you all night? That I spent too much time choosing your flowers, and too much energy hoping you’d take them? That I planned what I’d say here today, and that I haven’t managed to say any of it?”
    “It helps,” I said a little shakily. “Maybe it’d help more if you told me some of those things.”
    “Right.” He ran a hand over the back of his head, looked down at the sandwich in his other hand as if he’d forgotten it was there, then looked back at me. “Please. Eat your lunch. If you don’t, if I’ve made you miss two meals—well, still got some room for guilt in me after all, haven’t I.”
    “Oh?” I took another bite to please him, but it wasn’t easy. “To be fair, I think I started this one.”
    “Yeh.” His eyes were so warm, his sudden smile so sweet. “I’d say you did. And some temptations are just too much to bear.”
    It was close enough to my own thoughts to have me shifting uncomfortably. “Planned speech,” I reminded him. “Because my lunch hour’s about up, you know?”
    “Yeh. Well—I was thinking. You’ve got a sister, eh. Fifteen, you said.”
    “Yes.” My sister? Where was this going?
    “And you live in Brooklyn. And, yeh,” he said before I could say anything. “I looked it up. I’m not going to lie to you, and I’m not going to manipulate you. Not any more than I can help. Whatever we do— whatever we do—is going to be because you want it, too.”
    “And that helps more,” I managed to say. Whatever we do? What did that mean? 
    “So,” he continued, determination clear in every line of his hard body, laser-focus back on me. “Brooklyn. Sister. Nervy.” 
    “Um…nervy?”
    “Skittish,” he clarified. “Put them all together, and I got—daytime. Botanic Gardens. Chaperone. Me taking you and your sister out for a walk in the rose gardens, getting to know you, while I don’t touch your mouth, and you don’t talk to me about being a butterfly tied to my web.”
     “I didn’t say…tied,” I managed to say.
    “No? Must’ve imagined it,” he said with a look that told me how clearly he’d done just that. “Saturday. Ten-thirty. I’ll collect you both at your apartment this time. Sound like a plan?”
    Toughen up. “You don’t do relationships,” I reminded him. 
    “And you