“Like what?” The words throbbed from her without her consent.
His hand lifted higher, his fingers slipping into the tight elastic that kept her hair bundled together, and pulling at it. But it was stubborn, and he had to lift his other hand to help, which brought his whole body into contact with hers.
Imogen froze as awareness robbed her of anything other than the ability to feel. Everything she was revolved around this moment. This feeling.
Finally, he freed her hair. He ran his fingers through it, pulling it down her back and over her shoulders. “I remember the way your hair fell all around your face, like a magnificent halo, when you were on top of me.”
She fluttered her eyes shut now, needing to block out the memories he was evoking. But they were everywhere. Behind her eyes, in her mind, deep in her heart and soul.
“What else?” A throaty plea.
“I remember your laugh.” And though Imogen’s eyes were closed, she could hear the amusement in his voice. “It was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.” His fingers tangled in the back of her hair, holding her head still.
“We had fun,” she said, almost wistfully, but guilt for that night was a wave rolling across her, dampening desire. “I didn’t know you were so … intoxicated.”
“I know.” He moved his body, closer to hers, so that his legs straddled her easily. She was so petite compared to his frame. “I wish I hadn’t been. I wish I’d been stone-cold sober so that every single minute of that night could be etched in my memories.”
“They’re etched in mine,” she said quietly, a small moan of complete honesty. “I remember everything.”
There was nothing. Just the sound of his breathing, as labored as hers. The air around them was thick and she forced herself to open her eyes. He was closer than she’d realized. His face just an inch or so from hers.
“What do you remember?” The words breathed against her temple, and she swayed even closer.
It was foolish; it was magic.
“I remember you were strong,” she spoke without thinking, letting the words tumble out of her as the memories assailed her. “You lifted me up as though I weighed nothing and held me against my bedroom wall. You wrapped my legs around your waist and you kissed me hard. So hard I felt like you became a part of me.” Her cheeks flushed with the ludicrousness of the confession. Would she regret being so honest?
“I did.” He dropped a hand to her stomach, brushing it over the exposed flesh.
“Uh huh.”
“What else do you remember?” His hand snaked around behind her, pressing his palm flat against the small of her back, holding her where she was.
“The way you lay me down on the bed as though I was some kind of precious, valuable object.”
He made a growling sound of agreement. “What else?” His hand at her back pushed her forward, so that she collided with the hard wall of strength that was him. He ground his hips against her belly; the hardness of his arousal pressed into her.
She gasped.
“Do you remember how it felt to come together?”
She nodded, her eyes fogged with memories and tortured by the past.
“And?” He prompted, rolling his hips again so she groaned audibly now, desire punching her hard in the gut.
“It was amazing.” The words were drawn from her almost against her will.
“I don’t know,” he said, moving his head incrementally closer to hers. “I think I could do better without the impediment of a gallon of scotch slowing me down.”
“Believe me, you weren’t impaired in any way,” she assured him, but her heart was galloping hard in her chest at the very idea of a re-do.
“But without a point of comparison…” And his mouth claimed hers then, just as it had the first time they’d kissed. It was a mark of possession; an ownership. She submitted to him completely, tilting her head back, her lips parted, willing to be his completely.
His hand stayed pressed to the back of her head, holding her where he wanted her, and she whimpered low in her throat as need, fierce and sharp, drove through
her. The kiss was scorching and she was burning up. The kiss was a warning, too. A warning she didn’t want to heed.
How could she, when the blood in her veins was pushing her forward, strumming through her with reminders of what they’d shared.