“Humor me.” He stepped in and stole a single kiss, one of those deliberately light ones that made desire soak through her like gasoline.
She shifted lightly on her feet, instantly restless, but not in a hurry to go anywhere. “You could try that again.”
He did, lingering. Taking his time finding the right fit, playing with levels of pressure.
While she shyly returned his kiss, her whole body became sensitized to everything around them. The lamplight chasing them toward the hall, the scent of faint cologne against his cheek and the slight rustle of their clothing as they stopped holding hands and reached to touch. Her hand came to rest on the fabric of his shirt, curling into a fist that crushed the fine linen while her mouth moved with tremulous passion beneath his, encouraging him.
That bashful invitation seemed to test his control. He growled and deepened the kiss. His hands found her waist and drew her fully against him.
All the memories she had convinced herself were fantasy were becoming real. He was here. She was in his arms, in his home. This was her new life. It was too much. A small cry sounded in her throat.
He lifted his head. Both of them tried to steady their breath.
She suddenly remembered him saying, You deserve better than the lowlife who took your camera.
She had known she did, but she hadn’t believed she deserved him. Not for more than a brief hour. At the time, she had countered, She didn’t deserve you, either. I hope you find someone better. She had wanted him to see her as an option. To want her.
Did he? She could tell he was affected by their kiss, but he was pulling himself back under control as she watched.
This was the true source of her apprehension. That she would lose herself to his touch again and whatever grip or autonomy she had over her life would slip away. After their first time, even before she had learned she was pregnant, she had known her life would never be the same. Every other man would be compared to him and fall short.
After tonight, he would know he could do this to her. He could break down her barriers without effort, own her body and soul. Her eyes began to sting at her defenselessness.
His hands moved soothingly across her lower back. His eyes had gone more blue than gray and were shot with sparks of green, hot as the center of a flame. As he slowly drew her in again, he made a noise that was a question.
She settled gladly against him. Melted into him.
If she had had the strength of mind, of willpower, she might have balked. But she wanted this. She craved his touch like she’d been sucked into quicksand and suddenly found the vine that would pull her free.
He lowered his head and took another thorough taste of her, long and lazy and luscious. The stab of his tongue acted like alcohol, shooting pleasurable trickles of heat through her veins. She grew loose of limb and warm and weak. She moaned softly and curled her arms around his neck, encouraging him.
He settled into a passionate kiss, not aggressive, but full of confidence. Unhurried and possessive. Seductive.
She quit thinking about whether she was being reckless or not skilled enough. She let herself sink into the play of his mouth across hers and simply feel. Feel the hardness of him with her whole body as she rose on her tiptoes. Feel the silk of his hair with her fingers and the faint abrasion of chin stubble as he twisted his head and swept his tongue across hers.
She immersed herself in the feel of him. The sweep of his hands across her back and down to her hips, the iron thighs holding steady as she leaned into him. The erotic hardness of his erection pressing into her abdomen, telling her she was affecting him.
The knowledge he was aroused sent arrows of answering lust deep into her belly. Lower. Each bolt was tipped with flame, burning her hotter as their kisses went on until she was melting and dripping with anticipation. Making pleading noises without conscious awareness of it.
The scoop of his hands under her backside surprised her, but her legs locked around his waist as he lifted her. She found herself nose to nose with him.
“Hold on.” He looked as though he commanded armies, his face a mask of sharp angles as he carried her down the hall.
She clung across his shoulders, and buried her face in the masculine scents against his neck. She nuzzled his throat and lightly bit his earlobe, smiling when she made all the muscles in his body flex in reaction.
His hands tightened against her backside and she chuckled with feminine power, thrilling, then falling—
She gasped and let go to put out her hands, but he caught her with strong arms across her back, bending with her, coming with her and covering her as she landed gently on the mattress.
Barely any light had followed them into the room. They’d forgotten the baby monitor, but Lily was across the hall. Poppy would hear her—but dearly hoped she wouldn’t.
She glanced toward the en suite.
“We’ll get there,” he murmured of the shower, propping himself over her on one elbow. “This is nice for now.” His legs were tangled with hers, his hips heavy on hers. With his free hand, he popped the first button on her top. “Sí?”
She smiled shyly, not sure what she was supposed to agree to. He could undress her if he wanted to, but this was the furthest thing from “nice.” It was exhilarating and dangerous and consuming. It was everything she wanted.
And there was something awfully sweet about a man who wanted to seduce her when she was already there.