Her chest lifted as if she’d just taken in a huge gulp of air. “You don’t have to worry about me. We have an agreement. I won’t go back on my word.”
“The agreement isn’t what’s important to me.”
“What is?”
He tried to determine what she might be feeling. “Are you afraid of me, Emma?”
She shook her head, and his heart beat faster. That was good. He could never touch a woman who was afraid of him.
“Then come here.”
Emma’s teeth sank into her bottom lip, but she moved forward, stopping a few feet in front of him.
He waved her toward him again, and this time she didn’t stop until she was standing between his spread knees. He could feel her body’s heat, smell the soap she’d just used. He could almost feel the satiny softness of her skin, even though he hadn’t touched her yet.
When he stood, the final inches between them shrank to millimeters. He hovered over her for several seconds, searching for any sign of the fear she denied. He could tell she was nervous, jumpy, but he didn’t think she was afraid of him. She met his eyes squarely and didn’t flinch.
“Relax,” he said. “I won’t hurt you, okay? I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”
She didn’t answer, but she had to bend her head back to look up at him, and he thought he saw her eyes lower to his lips. She expected him to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her. Deeply, hungrily…
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and he took advantage of the fact that she left them parted by pressing his mouth very lightly to hers.
She stood, stiff but compliant, as their lips brushed. His blood roared in his ears, but he wouldn’t allow himself to put his arms around her for fear she’d feel restricted, overpowered. He simply strung feathery kisses across her cheeks, her forehead, her jaw. By the time he reached her neck, she seemed to understand that he was serious about not taking more than she offered and began to soften. She even leaned toward him a little.
As gently as possible, he let his mouth slide down her slim throat, nipping at her skin, raising goose bumps. “If you don’t like something, tell me,” he breathed.
She said nothing. She closed her eyes and arched her neck as he moved lower, and he smiled inside. She liked it. Hope began to equal the desire tightening his groin.
Purposefully touching her in ways she’d find nonthreatening, he came up the other side of her neck, traced her ear with the tip of his tongue and used his breath to evoke a shiver. His fingers itched to slip beneath her T-shirt. But this wasn’t about getting to the bottom line. This was about discovering that sense of “we” he missed so much. He couldn’t achieve it without her full cooperation, without a passionate response. Considering that, her enjoyment was almost more important to him than his own.
Sliding his hand around to the base of her skull, he cradled her head in his palm, being careful to keep his grip loose, so she’d know she could break away if she wanted to. He wasn’t worried about pressing her for more. Pressing her would only make him wonder, later on, if he’d gone too far. She’d let him know if she wanted him to make his caresses less innocent. She’d place her arms around his neck, moan when he hit a certain spot or move eagerly against him. A woman could send the signal he was looking for in a thousand different ways, but he had no doubt he’d know it when she did.
Emma didn’t send any overt signals, but neither did she withhold. When he kissed her again, as sweetly as before, she gazed up at him for a second, and he thought he read surprise, even curiosity, in her eyes. “You okay?” he murmured.
She nodded, turning her head to catch his lips as they moved softly across her face.
He nuzzled her neck. “You smell good.” She felt good, too. Clean. Warm.
He slid the tips of his fingers down her arms, and she slipped them around his neck.
Closing his eyes, he caught his breath at the softness of her br**sts against him. She’d chosen to do that all by herself. She was also burying her fingers in his hair and opening her mouth for deeper, wetter kissing.
She was killing him by degrees. The desire to move faster, to feel her naked against him, to see her throw her head back in ecstasy, curled through his veins like smoke. She could wrap him in her innocence and warmth, provide his body with acceptance and release, his mind with a moment’s reprieve.
He groaned when she began to respond in earnest. She tasted so good. Testosterone made his heart bang against his chest. As cautious and slow as he wanted to be, he had to bring her closer to him, make her part of him—so he wouldn’t have to spend this night as alone as he did all the others.
Slowly he moved his hand to her hip and rubbed his thumb across the bare skin just above the elastic of the boxers. He shook with the desire to cup her breast, to feel her nipple rise against his palm. But he didn’t want to take anything. He wanted her to guide him.
She didn’t lift his hand to her breast, as he wished she would. But she did shift slightly. To make it easier for him? Or had he imagined it? He let his hand glide beneath her shirt but moved instead to her back, where he skimmed her spine, exploring her muscles with his fingers while savoring the softness of her skin.
Then, as her arms loosened from around his neck, his heart skipped a beat. Was she going to stop him after all? Or worse, offer to perform something that would let him know she wasn’t as involved as he thought?
She did neither. Almost curiously, her expression rapt, she brushed her fingers over his bare chest, circled his pectorals, touched one nipple.
His stomach muscles tightened convulsively, and he started thinking about leading her to the bed. But he didn’t make his move fast enough. Max must have rolled over inside the bathroom because he suddenly kicked the wall, and Emma froze. Preston could feel her holding her breath, waiting to see if her son would come out of the bathroom.
After several seconds, Max didn’t appear. But when Preston tried to kiss Emma again, whatever she’d been feeling before was gone. She was stiff and mechanical.
It was over before it had ever really begun. He’d lost her.
Closing his eyes, he hauled in a deep breath and forced himself to let go. “It’s late,” he said when he could speak. “Get some sleep.”
Then he walked out into the warm night and went to sit by the edge of the glassy pool.
AFTER THE DOOR CLOSED behind Preston, Emma sank onto the bed, too weak and shaky to remain standing. What had just happened? One minute she was in the bathroom, giving herself a pep talk about suffering through Preston’s unwanted attentions. The next she was melting beneath his hands.