Chapter 11
Landon
Iwas an asshole. I knew this, because only an asshole would try to get into the pants of a woman who’d been through what Mercy had experienced today. She was vulnerable and scared, and fucking her would be like taking advantage of those emotions. I knew this in my head, but my hands wouldn’t stop touching her. My lips wouldn’t stop kissing her.
And her body was so damn responsive.
As her tongue danced with mine, my fingers lingered on her neck, feeling her pulse quicken. I expected her to push me away—to put an end to this insanity—but instead, her hands explored my chest, her touch making me impossibly harder.
I knew it was wrong, but the launch sequence had started.
Her body was sending out the appropriate signals, letting me know she wanted this as much as I did. Then she undid the top button of my jeans and I knew we were going all the way.
Takeoff seemed imminent.
But then the food arrived, saving us both.
Mercy was a wreck. Her chest heaved with deep breaths as she leaned against the wall, watching me collect the food and sign the credit card slip for the driver. Disgusted at myself for how close I’d come to ripping off her clothes despite her injury, I could barely stand to look at her. I was supposed to be there to help—to protect her—and I couldn’t stop thinking about the way her skin felt beneath my fingers. About the way her lips had tasted.
I wanted more. And I knew the second I got the chance, my hands would be all over her again. As would my lips, my tongue, and any other body parts she allowed to touch her, to invade her.
Fuck! Get it under control, Welch.
“I’m going to go take a shower,” she announced, surprising me out of my thoughts. I’d been taking my time laying out the food, trying to force my thoughts toward basketball, or medical procedures, or anything else that would get my dick to calm the fuck down.
“But what about dinner?” I asked, afraid to let her out of my sight. What if I’d scared her? What if I’d misread her body language and she wasn’t interested in me at all? I needed her to sit and talk to me, so we could get this all worked out.
“I’m not really hungry right now. Maybe later?” She sounded almost frantic as she inched toward the hallway, away from me.
I liked Mercy, and I wanted more than just sex from her. A lot more. We’d only known each other for a few days, but she’d already shown me her passion, her strength, and her sense of humor. She was a good person, and I wasn’t just blowing smoke up her ass when I said I could use a little of her in my life. I wanted all of her, and I was terrified that I’d blown this thing developing between us.
“Are you okay, Mercy?”
“Yes. It’s just been a long day and I could really use some hot water to work out the kinks in my neck.”
“I could give you a massage.” It was like I couldn’t stop the desperation and stupidity from spewing from my mouth. “A platonic, healing massage. I didn’t mean anything sexual by that.”
“Thanks, but I’m good.” She practically sprinted down the hall to escape from me.
Left staring at several cartons of food I no longer had an appetite for, I barely resisted the urge to splatter them all against the wall. She’d trusted me enough to let me into her apartment, and I’d broken that trust by practically attacking her. Disgusted with myself, I took a deep breath and packed up the food. Then I stuck it all in the fridge before settling on the sofa and waiting for Mercy.
Since last night, I’d been doing so good at keeping my distance. But seeing her lying on the floor of that preschool… it had triggered me, made me realize how important she’d become to me in such a short time.
Seeing her in danger had changed everything.
But hearing her talk about the ordeal… That fucked me up.
I tried to stay calm and collected, but listening to her admit that she thought she was going to die had taken me over the edge. Death was in my face every day, and I handled it. No, I compartmentalized it. But as I stared into Mercy’s gorgeous blue eyes and heard her fears, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I wouldn’t want to exist in a world without her.
Mercy was passion. She was fire, hope, and joy, all the things my life had been lacking. Her admission that she wanted to fall in love and start a family had awoken something inside of me that I’d never known was there.
For the first time in a long time, I knew what I wanted from life.
I wanted Mercy, and there was no fucking way I’d let some asshole with a gun take her away from me. I just needed to play it cool and give her some time, at least wait until her head felt better before I came on to her.
Though I’d resolved to do better, it was even more difficult to control myself when she emerged from the bathroom wearing pajamas. They weren’t sexy, that wasn’t her style. Instead, they looked comfortable. Soft. Kind of cute. Her bottoms were black, tight through the hips and flared out at the feet. Her tank top was fitted and the same bright blue color of her eyes.
And she wasn’t wearing a bra.
