“Do you regret me ever knocking on your door?”
She lifted her head at his low question, her heart wild.
Did she? He’d turned everything upside down. He’d hurt her, embarrassed her, and angered her.
And yet he’d made her laugh, he’d gotten Zach back into school, he’d made her feel…
He’d made her feel, something she only ever really did when painting. He’d made her feel again. And believe. And hope.
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t.”
Without a word or warning, he swung the Aston Martin in a sharp U-turn and pressed his foot to the accelerator.
She frowned, looking out the window. “Where are we going?”
He threw her a lopsided grin. “I told you, good coffee.”
A few moments later, he turned the sports car into the driveway framed on either side by a high solid-constructed fence. A panel of the wall slid open, revealing an opulent, architecturally designed home surrounded in lush gardens and ankle-high muted lights.
Sienna stiffened in her seat. “Is this…?”
As if she hadn’t spoken, James drove the Aston Martin through the gate and into an open garage in which sat a Bentley, a Ferrari, a Mercedes, and a Lotus Esprit. Killing the engine, he released his seat buckle and twisted to face her. “Do me a favor, okay?” A small grin played with his lips. “Pretend those other cars aren’t there and my home is furnished by Ikea?”
She laughed. “O—”
He kissed her.
…
He shouldn’t have done it. Not in the car.
The second his lips touched hers, the need to bury his hands in the exquisite tumble of her hair and make love to her mouth with his tongue overwhelmed him. He was beyond caring who she was—the woman Clint had killed himself over—and only cared about what she was—the woman who stirred within him passion and compassion and the need to protect and cherish. It wasn’t possible, he was a Dyson after all, but there it was.
Her story of her childhood, the trappings of money he knew well, laid bare for him to judge, condemn, or accept.
The courage it must have taken to share that with him was beyond his understanding. Her trust in him, to give such a tormented part of her soul to him when he’d done little but play with her emotions, humbled him. And made him ache for her all the more.
He swept his tongue over the silken softness of her lips, aching to deepen the kiss. She whimpered, brushing a hand at his chest just above his pounding heart. The contact—no more than a feather-light caress—sent a jolt of concentrated heat into his groin. He groaned, fisted his hand in her hair for a moment, and then pulled back.
Desire and pleasure flushed her face. Her closed eyes fluttered open. The tip of her tongue touched her bottom lip. “James…”
He gave her a small smile and shook his head, even as his very soul demanded he pull her into his arms and kiss her again. “Coffee. Good coffee, remember?”
She laughed, a soft sound he enjoyed listening to so much. “This coffee better be the world’s best coffee.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “What, you don’t believe me?”
Her lips twitched. “Let’s just say the build up better have payoff.”
His gut clenched at her words. Christ, he wanted to undress her, he wanted to explore every inch of her delectable flesh as he revealed it, his tongue and lips discovering her curves, her dips, her secrets. The payoff to a build up he’d been both resisting and stoking since he’d seen her at Clinton’s exhibition.
With a silent curse, he opened his door and climbed out.
She alighted as he walked around to her side, her hair spilling over her shoulders as a breeze played through the auburn waves. Her eyebrows dipped into a frown.
“Is there a problem?”
“I never do this.”
“Coffee? I have decaf if it helps.” He grinned. “Good decaf.”
She huffed out a laugh. “Not coffee, this.” She indicated his house, her stilettos clinking together as they dangled from her fingers by the ankle straps. “Going to a guy’s home. I don’t do this. I’ve never felt comfortable doing this.”
He studied her profile, his throat tight. What did he do if she changed her mind and wanted to leave? It wasn’t just that he wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to keep spending time with her. As simple as that. “Do you feel comfortable with me?”