The instant Emily’s delicate little hand settles against mine, I close my fingers around hers, holding on tight, wanting her to the point of almost need. This night, somehow, she’s become the light in the darkness that is my fucked-up family.
I drag her to me, my hand molded to her lower back, hers settling over my thundering heart, her eyes on my chest. “Look at me,” I order.
She tilts her chin up, those pretty blue eyes filled with desire, but also trepidation that I will take great pleasure in tearing away. “This isn’t,” she begins. “I don’t normally…”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Yes. I know and I don’t make a habit of taking women I just met to bed.”
“Then why me? Why tonight?”
“Because it would be unfair to someone else for me to fuck them while thinking about you. I want you. Just you.”
“Yes, but—”
“Because you’re you. That’s the only answer I have for either of us.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Neither do I, but we won’t figure it out standing here in yet another hallway.”
She studies me for several long moments, and I fight the urge to pressure her, but I wait, and when she finally nods her approval, the relief I feel defies all reason and my understanding of who I am as a man. But I don’t question it or give her time to change her mind. I take her hand, leading her through the tables, me in front, simply because it’s the only way I can hold on to her. Now that I have her, I’m not letting her go. I want this woman. I’m not letting her get spooked and run again.
Once we are at the door, I pull her in front of me, holding it open for her, but staying close, my hand on her back. We exit, a gust of especially cold wind greeting us and she faces me, hugging herself. “I really need that jacket right about now.”
“Take mine,” I say, shrugging out of it, feeling protective of this woman when I barely know her.
“No,” she says, holding up her hands. “I can’t do that. It’s very—”
I settle it around her, holding on to the lapels as she murmurs, “expensive,” and I am looking at her lips, thinking about my mouth on hers. “Put your arms in,” I order softly, the wind lifting that sweet scent of hers in the air, and I swear my groin tightens as if she’d touched me. Holy hell, I’m in trouble with this woman. “Arms,” I say again when she hasn’t moved.
She hesitates a moment longer but does as I say, laughing as her hands are swallowed by my sleeves. “You’re big or I’m small.”
“Considering I’m six two and I’d guess you to be a foot shorter, I’d say both.”
“Hey now,” she reprimands me. “I’m five four. Don’t take my two inches.”
“Five four,” I amend, reaching for one of her arms to roll up the sleeve.
“Don’t do that,” she objects, grabbing my hand. “This is at least a two-thousand-dollar suit. You can’t roll up the material.”
For a woman who tries not to talk about herself, she’s just told me there’s a good chance she’s been around money, even if she doesn’t have it now. “The jacket will be fine. The dry cleaners can handle it. I promise.”
For a moment, she looks like she might argue, but instead says, “Thank you,” and there’s an odd hint of something in her voice that reaches beyond simple politeness and stirs further interest in me. She interests me and remarkably, the edge of minutes before has eased slightly, and I haven’t even gotten her naked yet.
I grab the lapels again and inch her closer. “My place is a mile from here. I want to take you there. This is where you say yes again.”
“You know my answer.”
“Say it,” I demand, needing her to be clear about what she wants, and what I want.
“Yes,” she whispers, then seeming to understand I’ll ask for more, she firms her voice to add, “Your place is fine.”
“Good answer.” I don’t give her time to get nervous on me, draping my arm around her shoulders to sweep her into the shelter of my body, and set us in motion down a fairly deserted section of the sidewalk. “The walk is longer from the direction we exited the restaurant,” I say, noting her hands grasping her purse, not me, where they belong. “But I need to drop by the building and pick up my car. Is yours in the garage?”
“I walked,” she says as we enter the dark patch just before the bustle of Sixteenth Street. “Good grief, this back street is spooky. I’d never walk it without you.”