“Yes. Not rushing this. Not talking you into something and then falling on you like an animal. I haven’t been with anyone in a very long time. I haven’t wanted to.” His grip on her neck tightened, his control barely tethered. “But when you kiss me like that, touch me, I can’t think of anything other than stripping you down right here, putting my mouth on every inch of you, and then sinking deep inside you and making you scream.”
A soft gasp escaped her. “Oh.”
He closed his eyes and gave a humorless laugh, her startled response making him feel ridiculous. “And there I go, taking it too far anyway. I’m sorry.”
He shifted to pull away, to get some much-needed distance, but she reached out and grabbed the waistband of his shorts, hauling him back close. “Hey.”
He lifted his head, meeting her gaze, his blood still pumping hard. “Yeah?”
“Don’t apologize for that,” she said, voice steady. “For showing me you want me or talking dirty or any of it.” She wet her lips. “I’m not saying we should take that step yet either. This is new. We’re getting to know each other. But when you say those things and kiss me that way, when you look at me like you are now, I feel…”
“You feel what?” he asked hoarsely.
“Alive, Wes. Like every part of me is firing at full speed.” She pushed up on her toes and brushed her lips over his. “So please, don’t apologize for that. If I don’t want to do something, I’ll tell you so, and I know you’ll respect that. But don’t be afraid to be real with me or to say what’s in your head. I’m not that easily scandalized. Plus, it’s probably in my head, too.”
Heat spread through his chest and lower—much, much lower. “Oh yeah, lawyer girl. Tell me what’s going on in your head right now.”
She smiled innocently. “If I told you that, we’d never get the bus washed.”
He made a pained sound and tipped his head back. “You are a very mean lady.”
“I am the worst.” She stepped away from him and grabbed the clothes he’d lent her.
But as she walked into the bedroom to change, he had a very different opinion running through his mind. She wasn’t the worst.
No. In fact, she was turning out to be the very best thing that had happened to him in a long damn time.
Now he had to make sure not to screw it up.
chapter
SEVENTEEN
Rebecca walked into Wes’s living room in the borrowed clothes, bracing for the reaction. She knew that Wes would never say anything negative about her scars. He wasn’t a dick. But it didn’t make her feel any less self-conscious about her naked legs.
After the bad experience in college and years of gawkers in gym locker rooms and swimming pools, she’d developed a bit of a phobia about exposing her legs. She hated the sympathy, the curiosity, the questions—no matter how well intentioned. Not because the scars were so hard to look at. She’d had her knee reconstructed, which had left dark, raised incision marks on her pale skin, and there was a deep puckered scar in her thigh where a bullet had hit her. Her muscles on that side were smaller than the muscles in her other leg, but many people had worse. Her aversion to the scars was less due to how they looked and more because of what they branded her with.
Most people saw them as her mark of survival, but she saw them as a constant reminder of what she’d done to make Trevor want her dead.
Wes stepped out of his kitchen with two water bottles and smiled when he saw her. No flinch. No gaping. No look of pi
ty. “All ready to get Adele sparkling?”
Rebecca let out a breath she didn’t realize had gotten stuck in her throat. He wasn’t going to stare. He wasn’t going to ask questions. Something tight between her shoulders eased. “I hate to break it to you. I love Adele. But I’m not sure she’s capable of sparkling without a new paint job.”
Wes shook his head. “Ye of little faith.”
“Me of realistic constitution.”
He laughed. “Okay, sparkling may be a bit of a stretch. But who needs that? New and perfect is overrated. Adele has character. She’s been through a lot and has survived. She is going to be beautiful in her own quirky way.”
Rebecca smirked and crossed her arms. “Wesley Garrett, are you sneakily trying to make me feel better about my bared legs?”
He walked over, looking like sin on parade in his thin, white T-shirt and black workout shorts, his tattoos flexing with every swing of his arms. He set the water bottles down and stopped in front of her, taking her hands and lacing his fingers with hers. He held her arms out to her sides and gave her a full up-and-down scan, making her belly flutter with apprehension.
“No, Rebecca. You are not beautiful in a quirky way,” he said, his gaze pinning her to the spot. “You are flat-out hot. You need no extra polishing. A lot of sunscreen probably, but no polish.”
Her throat tightened at the honesty in his eyes, but she forced a teasing smile. “Me and sunscreen go way back. We’ve been BFFs since a traumatizing day in a kiddie pool.”