You’re the most dangerous sort of woman

Instead of laughing with her, his eyes smoldered and his fingers massaged small circles just below her neck. “I think you’re cute too.”

“I know.” Celia held her stomach and laughed harder. Finally, she rested her head on her drawn-up knees, looking at him, looking at her. “You’re probably regretting bringing me coffee this morning.”

“Not in a million years.” He turned so he was facing her. He set his empty cup to the side, eyes narrowing as he took her measure. His sun-bleached hair glinted like an angel’s halo and his delectable mouth promised heaven. His blue eyes darkened just before he leaned across their space and he kissed her.

Celia closed her eyes and met his mouth, kiss for kiss. His lips were commanding and tasted like coffee. He applied just the right amount of pressure before releasing her lips, leaving her wanting…more. More kisses, more Dax.

She opened her eyes, seeing that he’d scooted back an inch. It was way too far. “Why’d you stop?”

“Kissing you is dangerous,” he said, his voice low. 

Celia no longer felt like laughing. “I am not dangerous.”

“Wrong. You’re the most dangerous sort of woman. Cool on the outside, all hot on the inside. White flames burn hottest, didn’t you know?”

Excerpt from Ambrosia by the Sea by Traci Hall

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