She nodded against his chest, believing him. He didn’t seem the type to give up on things, and she was grateful for that, even though her sister’s disappearance made her more worried and frustrated than she’d ever been, which said a lot, given how she’d spent the years of her marriage.
His hands traveled up her back to her shoulders, and she almost groaned when his strong fingers kneaded the muscles there. “Poor thing,” he murmured in her ear. “You’re so tense, darling.”
Her heart thrilled a bit at the endearment, and she wrapped her own arms around his waist, holding on tight. No one had ever called her darling before. “I’m so worried.”
“I know you are,” he said, and she could hear his own frustration leaking through his voice. “I’d do anything to take your worry away, to solve this for you.”
That’s what he was, she realized. A problem solver. He spent his whole life solving other people’s problems. She wondered suddenly if anyone had ever done the same for him. Then she realized that despite the strange intimacy that had flared between them during the last few days, she knew next to nothing about this man.
His hands continued to knead the muscles in her shoulders, then moved on to her neck and upper back. The fanciful thought crossed her mind that he was somehow rebuilding her, making her his own.
“That feels wonderful,” she admitted. “You never cease to amaze me. Do you give everyone you work with such service?”
His hands froze for a minute, then continued. “You know I don’t,” he chided. “You’re special to me. I can’t explain it, but you know it’s true.”
She did know it, and she suddenly felt bad for having said what she had, for trying to force these words from him. But she was feeling so lost, so confused by the emotions he pulled from her, that she’d desperately needed to know that he felt it, too. That he didn’t seduce every woman who came to him with her problems.
Because that’s what he was doing. Sebastian Ness was seducing her with his kindness, competence, and intelligence. She hated the reason that had thrown them together, but she couldn’t be sorry that she’d gotten to know him.
“You’re special to me, too, Inspector,” she whispered.
“I would be honored if you called me Sebastian instead of Inspector. Especially since we’re alone.”
“Sebastian.” His name rolled off her tongue so beautifully, and she liked the way it sounded on her lips.
“I’d be honored if you called me Jocelyn.”
“Jocelyn.” He said her name in a whisper, like a prayer.
The use of each other’s names seemed to signify something. She just wasn’t certain what that was.
She finally dared to look up at him, and the moment their eyes met, he kissed her again, this time with shattering thoroughness. She felt as though the times leading up to this had just been practice runs, and this was the main event. His hands came up to cup her face, feathering softly over her skin as though he was learning every feature, as though he wanted to imprint this moment across his mind for all eternity.
They kissed as though they had forever to do so, as though terrible, frightening things weren’t happening just outside that door. As though her sister would walk in at any moment and chide her for being so indiscreet.
At last, he broke away, staring down at her with such intensity it took her breath away. “I want to make you feel good,” he whispered hoarsely. “Do you trust me, Jocelyn?”
She wasn’t certain what he was asking, but she realized the answer was yes. Her answer to anything this man asked of her would always be yes. Even though she hardly knew him, she instinctively trusted him as she’d trusted no man before him, not even her father.
“I trust you, Sebastian,” she breathed, and his eyes flared with something she hesitated to put a name to.
Stepping slightly away, he took her hand and led her to the sofa. Once she’d sat, he sank to his knees in front of her. The different in their heights was such that his face was still almost even with hers. To her shock, he put a hand on each of her knees and eased them apart so that his body was now pressed against the edge of the sofa between her thighs.
“Have you ever... either with your husband or at your own hands... had a sexual release?” he asked hoarsely.
Her eyes widened, shock filling her even as his words caused a persistent ache at the apex of her thighs. “No,” she squeaked. “I don’t even know exactly what you mean.”
Surely you weren’t allowed to touch yourself in such a manner? She’d never even considered such a thing. She’d been told since birth that it would be a sin.
He leaned forward and kissed her again, so tenderly it took her breath away. Then he pressed his forehead against hers. “I’d like to touch you in a way that will make you feel so good, Jocelyn. I promise that it will make all of this go away, at least for a little while. Will you let me give that to you?”
She could only nod, afraid to ask what he meant, afraid to even think about it. But she did crave the escape he offered. She needed a few moments of respite from this clawing worry.
Still pressing his forehead to hers, he slipped his hands under her skirts, running his palms along the lace of her stockings and then the bare skin of her thighs. She gasped, biting her lip as the ache between her thighs grew until it was almost painful.
“You’re so soft here,” he breathed. “I love touching you this way.”
Catching her mouth with his again, he kissed her deeply as his fingertips brushed against her most intimate spot. Though on some level, she’d known that was where this was headed, it still shocked her, immediately bringing back the memories of the way her husband had hurt her.