Page 50 of My Killer Blind Date

‘Never heard of it.’

‘You’ll love it. It’s five hours long.’

He chuckles. ‘How about another night?’

I pout. ‘C’mon! Wouldn’t it feel good to stretch out on the couch after a long day?’

‘It would feel even better to talk. I want to get to know you more. Let me finish making the chocolate cakes and we’ll go from there.’

My brain goes into a flurry of recalculations. I need a plan B! If he won’t watch a movie, under what circumstances can I get him to fall asleep?

The answer is obvious. Dangerous. But tonight, I’m trusting myself.

I lean close and whisper, ‘Can I have a kiss first?’

I don’t have to ask twice. His mouth is on mine in less than a second. A waterfall of sensation washes over me, fast and easy, like my body is picking right back up where we left off, which is OK because it’s all part of the plan I’ve just hatched, and it’s an added bonus that it feels so good.

‘Wait!’ I shout, stepping back, heart pounding. I pull out my phone and share my location with George, which I should have thought to do the second I walked through his door. With shaking fingers, I shoot off a text to her. Safety check, I’ll text u in 2 hours.

‘Everything OK?’ he says, voice husky.

‘Just sharing my location with a friend.’ Phone still in hand, I scan his face in the dim light for his reaction.

‘Great,’ he says before coming back in for a kiss that takes my breath away.

He’s totally unconcerned.

I pull away roughly again, breathing heavily. ‘If she doesn’t hear from me in the next two hours, she’s calling 911.’ Without breaking eye contact, I drop my phone back into my purse, and with my hand still buried in its depths, I grip the stun gun, just in case this is when he springs out his evil side.

Liam’s face is so close to mine I can feel his breath. My pulse lurches as I watch for any sign on his face – a twitch, a flash of fear – anything. But he just grins, his expression suddenly wolfish.

‘That’s incredibly sexy.’ His voice is low, almost lazy.

‘That I don’t trust you?’

‘That you’re smart.’ He runs the back of his palm down my face. His touch is light, and I shiver.

‘It doesn’t bother you?’ Because if you are a serial killer, it should.

‘Smart girls are hot.’

Heat rushes through me as our mouths collide again, and then my hands are working their way under his T-shirt like they have a mind of their own, feeling up the smooth, rock-hard expanse of his torso. I have the strangest impulse to slap his ass just to feel how hard it is, and I’ve never been an ass-slapper, though maybe that says more about the previous asses I’ve had access to …

I pull away. Time for phase two of plan B. ‘Beverages. Do you have anything stronger than wine?’

His mouth is slightly reddened, his hair tousled, his eyes unfocused. ‘Yeah. Strong. I can do that.’

Back on the other side of the island, he pulls two bottles from an upper shelf and clunks them on to the counter. ‘I’ve got bourbon – Maker’s Mark or Woodford Reserve?’

I laugh. ‘I have no idea what the difference is.’

‘Let’s do Woodford. I think you’ll like it – Maker’s is smoother, but Woodford’s a little richer.’ He pours two tumblers, and I gesture for him to top mine off a little more.

I perch on a bar stool by the small kitchen island and take the teensiest sip of all time.

‘Mmmm, notes of … vanilla?’

He nods approvingly and adds, ‘Caramel.’