But he stood so far from her. Rigidly controlled—rejecting that need. He turned toward the door.
“It must have been a really crappy day for you,” she said quietly. The lamest thing to say, but it was all she could think of.
He stopped still again, his head bent. “It doesn’t matter. I’m used to it.” He spoke with such a low tone she could hardly hear him. “Comes with the job.”
Quietly, she walked up behind him. “Eduardo…”
“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated, as if he hoped it would be true if he said it often enough.
She put her arms around him from behind, offering comfort. Nothing but human warmth and sympathy and support.
He resisted—flinching at first and then stiffening in absolute rejection. But she didn’t draw back. She wasn’t going to let him turn to stone. She pressed closer, turning her face so her cheek was pressed to his back, splaying her hands to hold him tight. She could feel his heart thundering into her palm.
His head dropped and she felt him release a gush of air. She moved quickly, stepping around him, keeping her hands firm on his body. He didn’t meet her eyes as she rose on tiptoe to get nearer to him. She put her palm to his cheek, felt the damp heat and the hard muscle beneath as he tried to keep it all in. He shouldn’t try to keep it in.
She slid firm fingers into his hair, breathed his name, and drew his head down to her shoulder. He moved slightly, another shuddering sigh as if his lungs were too squeezed for him to breathe. Then his arms snaked around her waist—suddenly, he was holding her close and tight. So tight her lungs were as constricted as his. Tremors ran through him. She felt his face pressing hard into her shoulder, felt the damp on her shirt. Too few tears for something so terribly sad. She closed her eyes and let him crush her to him.
It lasted only moments before he drew back, with a quick sniff and a half-muttered “sorry,” and still he wouldn’t look at her.
“Eduardo.”
“I’m okay.” He finally met her face on.
“It’s okay not to be.”
The blue in his eyes was even paler than usual. But as she watched, the hint of vulnerability in his expression disappeared. A predatory gleam crept into his eyes. His focus flicked to other parts of her. And as thrilled as some of her was to see that, the rest of her steeled. Because she wanted more. She wanted some answers.
“I’ve missed you.” Huskily, he spoke to her mouth.
“Really?” She didn’t believe him. “Then why was your good-bye the other morning so dismissive?”
He rubbed his jaw, his finger brushed across his beautiful lips. Then he sighed and dropped his hand. “I thought it’d be best if we didn’t see each other again.”
That hurt. She looked down so he wouldn’t see the pain in her eyes.
He muttered something indecipherable in Spanish and then switched to speak in English. “The other night was amazing. You know how amazing. But I didn’t want to complicate things for you a few days out from your departure.”
“So you were being cruel to be kind?” She sprinkled sarcasm on her words.
“I don’t have long-term relationships, Nina. This can’t go anywhere.”
Did he think she didn’t know that? “I’m not so naïve I think one night of hot sex will lead to ever after,” she said, firmly on her dignity.
“You admitted you’re not experienced in short relationships.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t handle them.” She lifted her chin. “All I wanted was some fun, too. You didn’t need to go so cold on me in the morning. I don’t want to keep this ring.” She held her hand up in front of him.
Silently, he regarded her. She watched the emotions flicker on his face—he was tired now. That was obvious—because he couldn’t block those emotions from his eyes—unhappiness, loneliness. And that yearning for some kind of relief.
She knew what he wanted—to bury himself in her and escape the heartache of today. And she wanted to let him. She had her own heartache to escape from.
But she wasn’t going to let him have it that easy.
“There’s a Shakespeare exhibition on at the British Museum. It’s late-night closing tonight. I’m planning to go.” She wasn’t giving that up—not for any guy.
There was a micro-moment of silence.
“May I come with you?” Eduardo asked, so politely.
Nina went hot. Corey would never have volunteered to go with her to any kind of exhibition. If she’d succeeded in dragging him, he’d have spent the time scoping out the café and the shop and sending texts on his phone. To his other women.
Nina braced herself. “I should warn you I can take a long time in a museum.”
Eduardo looked at his watch. “Then we’d better get going so you have as long as possible before closing.”
…
Eduardo loved museums. And this exhibition was up there with the best he’d seen. It held his interest, made him chuckle, and helped him forget things for five minutes. Thank heavens for Shakespeare.
And thank heavens for the woman whose hand he refused to let go of. She led him, slowly, from one stand to the next. She spoke at length to the guides and read every word written on the displays. She seemed surprised at his interest. He even caught her open-mouthed surprise when he asked a guide a question, too. And he caught another amazed look when he stopped to watch one of the videos from start to finish.
“I’d like to work in a museum like this,” she said as they neared the end, giving him a sideways glance as if she thought he’d laugh.
“You’d be good at it. Great. You could share all your favorite Shakespeare quotes with the schoolkids.”
She laughed and it warmed that cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Seriously,” he said, holding her hand more firmly in his. “I think you’d be fantastic. You have such enthusiasm, it’s infectious.”
“My ex thought museums were boring.”
“We’ve already established that he was an idiot. Forget him.”
Her peal of laughter was so vivacious every other person in the exhibition hall turned to look at her—and they all smiled.
“Done.” She grinned.
Eduardo’s spirits soared. He’d not been sure how she’d greet him when he came to the store tonight. But he’d felt bad at ignoring her this morning. He couldn’t help it—he’d been struggling to hold it together and if he’d stopped to talk to her? It would have been a mess. It was embarrassing enough the way he’d gone to bits in her store. He didn’t want to dump it on her—he wanted to keep this light and fun.
Outside the museum, he could wait no longer—he pulled her into his arms and pressed his parched lips onto hers. He needed the touch—he needed the vitality that streamed from her. It was only two stops back to Baker Street and he spent every second of that train ride kissing her. No need for a flashmob choir, it was all stars and song in his head. Relief poured through him, but a rapidly building tension took it all away again. He needed all of her. Now.
“Come home with me,” he breathed, pulling her close again as soon as they stepped onto the platform.
She pushed him away, her chin lifting as she laid out her demand. “Only if you kiss me in the morning.”
He’d kiss her every bloody morning if she’d just come home with him now.
“Here’s the deal,” she said, her breasts rising and falling fast beneath her pretty blouse and distracting him even more. “
I leave over the weekend. If we’re doing this again, we’re doing it for the rest of my time in London.”
“Fine.” He grabbed her hand and marched.
He couldn’t deny himself now—he didn’t have the strength. And if he had enough of her in the next few days, it would burn out—right? It was just sex. And the intensity of this need was only because, as she’d said, it had been a really crap day.
But at this moment she was all he could think of. His head filled with fantasies—his cock aching to make every one real. He needed her so damned much. Unable to wait to get to his bed, he hauled her into his arms the second he slammed his front door. Once more she melted right into him—as if she sensed how great his urgency was.
Three seconds of kissing and he realized her need was as razor sharp as his. Her hands clung, her lips, her tongue thrashing his. He backed her up to the nearest wall and stripped her where he needed her bare—shoving her bra down, her skirt up. His blood rushed—he felt giddy from the taste, scent, and touch of her. Now. He had to get inside her. Now.
Except he didn’t have anything on him. Cursing his lack of forethought, he froze—he couldn’t bear to tear himself away from the lush, rough kisses.
She laughed—actually laughed. And then bent, scrabbling for a second—producing a brand-new three-pack of condoms from the bag dangling from her elbow.
“Machine in the public loo,” she breathlessly explained.
He broke the zipper of his trousers in his haste. Her shirt was half-unbuttoned, her skirt pulled up to her waist, her knickers to her knees. And her mouth was red and urging him to hurry. She was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
He planted his feet wide, blocking her from moving anywhere while he took the twenty-seconds-too-long it took to roll the damn thing on. She teased him agonizingly as he did it—undoing his shirt, her fingers fluttering across his abs, and then she scraped a fingernail up to his nipple.
He swore, grabbed her hands and lifted them high above her head. He couldn’t have her teasing him right now—he’d lose it before he even got inside her. He switched his grip, holding both her wrists in one hand so he could finger-fuck her with the other. There were no nice euphemisms for what he wanted. No, he just wanted her to come on him. He wanted to feel every tight little contraction, he wanted to see her shake, wanted to hear her lose it. Wanted her to know absolute, exquisite pleasure—and it to be because of him.