"Laurell K. Hamilton - Anita Blake 06 - Killing Dance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

crap, doesn't it?"
I stared up at him. "There's a lot of macho crap out there, Richard. At
least you know it's crap."
"Can this male chauvinist wolf kiss you?"
"Always."
He leaned his face downward, and I rose on tiptoe to meet his mouth with
mine, my free hand against his chest for balance. We could kiss without me
going on tiptoe, but Richard tended to get a crick in his neck.
It was a quicker kiss than normal because I had this itching in the middle
of my back, right between the shoulder blades. I knew it was my imagination,
but I felt too exposed out in the open.
Richard sensed it and pulled away. He went around to the driver's side of
his car and opened his door, leaning across to unlock mine. He didn't open the
door for me. He knew better than that. I could open my own bloody door.
Richard's car was an old Mustang, sixty something, a Mach One. I knew all
this because he had told me. It was orange with a black racing stripe. The
bucket seats were black leather, but the front seat was small enough that we
could hold hands when he wasn't using the gear shift.
Richard pulled out onto 270 South. Friday night traffic spilled around us
in a bright sparkle of lights. Everybody out trying to enjoy the weekend. I
wondered how many of them had assassins after them. I was betting I was one of
the few.
"You're quiet," Richard said.
"Yeah."
"I won't ask what you're thinking about. I can guess."
I looked at him. The darkness of the car wrapped around us. Cars at night
are like your own private world, hushed and dark, intimate. The lights of
oncoming traffic swept over his face, highlighting it, then leaving us in
darkness.
"How do you know I'm not thinking about what you'd look like without your
clothes on?"
He flashed me a grin. "Tease."
I smiled. "Sorry. No sexual innuendo unless I'm willing to jump your
bones."
"That's your rule, not mine," Richard said. "I'm a big boy. Give me all the
sexual innuendo you want, I can take it."
"If I'm not going to sleep with you, it doesn't seem fair."
"Let me worry about that," he said.
"Why, Mr. Zeeman, are you inviting me to make sexual overtures to you?"
 His smile widened, a whiteness in the dark. "Oh, please."
I leaned toward him as far as the seat belt would allow, putting a hand on
the back of his seat, putting my face inches from the smooth expanse of his
neck. I took a deep breath in and let it out, slowly, so close to his skin
that my own breath came back to me like a warm cloud. I kissed the bend of his
neck, running my lips lightly up and down the skin.
Richard made a small, contented sound.
I curled my knees into my seat, straining against the seat belt so I could
kiss the big pulse in his neck, the curve of his jaw. He turned his face into
me. We kissed, but my nerves weren't that good. I turned his face away. "You
watch the road."