Sam retreated to his office.
He wrapped his fingers around the metal container that held his pens. With odd detachment, he noticed that his hand was shaking. He observed the container, then very deliberately threw it against the wall. It made a satisfyingcrashand pens rained down.
He scowled at the mess, which somehow satisfied him more than neatness could have.
What was the matter with him? What fatal flaw was buried in him that made him want to be loved so badly?
He’d spent years depriving himself and deepening his faith and telling himself that he was strong.
He wasn’t strong. He was a fool because his stupid heart that hadn’t made one right decision was giving itself piece by piece to Genevieve. No amount of structure or routine or control was good enough to hold it back—
A knock sounded on his front door. His attention cut to the foyer as his pulse began to pound.
His footfalls loud in the quiet, he made his way to the door and opened it.
Gen looked beautiful, standing there with her delicate face and long, thick hair. She gave him a raw expression of apology. Then she launched herself into his arms and kissed him.
The shock of it barreled him back a few paces. He carried her with him, not wanting to drop her.
Like a landslide, his mighty defenses fell. His hands speared into her hair. Need roared, blotting out thought and light and sound and worries. He was kissing her hungrily. He’d waited his whole life for this, and his world was never going to be the same, and all he wanted wasmore.
She smelled better than any scent he’d ever known. She tasted better than anything he’d ever tasted. She felt like softness and femininity and strength.
It seemed like a century since he’d kissed anyone, and the sensory details of it rushed through his bloodstream, making him realize he was starving—
She pulled back, breaking the kiss with a gulp and a rueful laugh. Her chest expanded and contracted.
His unfocused eyes centered on her. Her lips. Her green-brown eyes.
“I just needed to catch my breath.” She smiled.
But the fact that she’d pulled back, that she’d needed to catch her breath froze him. He’d forgotten his own power and size.
What was he doing?
At what point would he have stopped?
He’d lost his mind and his control, which rattled him as much as if he’d come to his senses in the middle of committing a crime he hadn’t planned to commit. He didn’t know or trust himself.
Gently, he reached up and unlocked her hands from behind his neck.
“Sam?” she whispered in confusion.
He paused, unable to resist pressing a kiss to her palm. Releasing her hands, he stepped back. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely.
“For what?”
“For...” The hope and concern and bewilderment in her face scrambled his brain. She must think he was crazy.
“For what?” she repeated.
“For kissing you like that just now.”
Her brows lifted. “I loved how you kissed me just now.”
“I didn’t plan to do that.”
“I know you didn’t. I’m the one who flung myself at you.”
