“What?” she whispered.
“This.”
He covered her mouth with his own.
* * *
Something had clenched tight in Nick’s chest when Deidre said the word scared. She looked sublimely beautiful staring up at him, her head cradled in his hand, her pink lips parted like a lush, blooming rose.
He shouldn’t have brought over the photos. It’d been insensitive of him. He wasn’t sure if Deidre was Lincoln’s biological child, but he’d come to the conclusion after spending the evening with her that she believed it, heart and soul. She believed Lincoln, Lily and George were the family she’d never known. It must have been brutal for her to see them all alive and happy, to witness the evidence of all the days, months and years of lives she’d never known, and never would.
His concern for her vulnerability didn’t silence his mounting desire for her. In fact, it seemed to be increasing it. An overwhelming need to protect her rose in him, mingling with an even more powerful mandate to devour her...possess her. He could have resisted her delicious-looking mouth as easily as he could have single-handedly turned night to
day.
Her lips were as eager as his. It enflamed him, the way she leaned into him, the way she molded and shaped her flesh to his, the way she tasted. He slid his tongue along the seam of her lips, hungry for more of her unique flavor. When he probed into the center of her warmth, and she opened for him so willingly, a groan burned in his throat.
She was sweetness distilled.
He probed the cavern of her mouth, stroking, caressing, seeking out more of her secrets. His other hand came up to cradle her jaw. He held her in place, his entire being focused on a kiss that was damned near singeing his very consciousness it was so hot.
She slid her tongue against his and applied a suction that he felt all the way to the place he burned hottest. He muttered her name as he bit at her plump lower lip and then captured her mouth again in a searing kiss. She ran her fingers through his hair, her touch causing a shudder of pleasure to course through him. His hands settled on her shoulders. He brought her against him, suppressing a growl of primal satisfaction at how supremely good she felt. She arched her back and her breasts pressed against his ribs.
He broke the kiss and gritted his teeth.
“You’ve been driving me crazy since I first laid eyes on you,” he whispered roughly as he kissed her neck. It was true. He’d been consumed with a desire to touch her from the first moment she’d looked at him with those singular blue-gray eyes and tilted her chin up in that part amused, part defiant gesture she favored. Her skin was so smooth it was like pressing his lips against a fragrant flower petal. Her body seemed to flow beneath his seeking hands, sleek muscle, supple, tight curves—the perfect combination of strength and soft femininity. He pressed his lips against her throbbing pulse.
“Your heart is beating so fast.” He slid his hand along her chest and rested it over her left breast. She stilled. Her heart pulsed against his palm. Her eyes were glassy with desire when he lifted his head, her lips rosy and damp from his kiss. A primitive, powerful urge rose in him to make love to her.
He shouldn’t do it. Things were getting out of hand. It would make things messy when what he most needed in this venture was objectivity.
She parted her lips.
To hell with objectivity.
He seized her mouth with his own.
He urged her to lie on her back on the couch and came down over her, never breaking their kiss. His blood rushed hot and fast through his veins. One thing existed in the universe for him at that moment, and for once, it wasn’t his drive to make a shrewd business decision.
Only Deidre mattered—only that, and the overwhelming need to lose himself in her.
Chapter Four
He pressed kisses along the top of her sweater-covered breasts while she raked her fingers through his hair. Her touch drove him crazy. There was too much clothing separating them. He reached for the bottom of her sweater, pausing when he heard Deidre whimper. He let the material fall from his hand at the poignant sound.
He lifted his head, spearing her with his stare.
“What is it?”
“I can’t, Nick,” she whispered. “It’s not right. You don’t trust me.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to deny it, to say his trust in her grew the more time he spent with her. He stopped himself when he realized how it would sound if he uttered those words.
She’d think he was saying it just to get her into bed.
He cursed under his breath and sat up. It felt like ripping off his own skin to separate himself from her warm, soft, supple body. He clamped his eyes shut and raked his fingers through his hair.
“You don’t trust me either,” he muttered. “It was a mistake not to spend more time with you while Linc was still alive.”