His expression shifted, the heat reignited. He reached for her, fingers brushing her cheek before trailing down to the edge of her blouse. He undressed her, piece by piece. His hands skimmed her waist and the curve of her hips—confident, unhurried. More intentional than any man had ever touched her.
Emily reached for him, tugging off his shirt, tracing the lines of muscle she remembered—and the new ones he’d earned since. She caught the slight hitch in his breathing, a tiny crack in his restraint she felt everywhere.
When he lifted her into his arms and laid her gently across the bed, she didn’t resist. She wanted this—wanted him. The intense passion from downstairs hadn’t faded. It coiled beneath her ribs, hot and insistent.
After quickly seeing to protection, he joined her, bracing on his elbows, covering her without smothering. For a heartbeat, his gaze darkened, revealing his hunger, before it softened again. His fingers threaded through her hair, holding her still as he kissed her—tasting of longing, and something new budding between them.
She arched beneath him, her body responding to the press of his chest, the slide of his thigh between hers, and the rhythm of his mouth. Fire swept through her, burning hotter when his fingers flexed on her hip and he deepened the kiss. Then he was inside her, filling completely. A moan escaped—part alarm, part awe. Alec was a big guy everywhere.
“Are you good, baby?” he asked.
“Perfect,” she whispered.
He chuckled low. “I believe that’s my line.”
Then he moved, slowly, with the utmost patience. It built to quiet urgency for both of them, the kind born of years apart and the ache of reunion.
His gentleness soothed her. At the same time, she yearned more, the flashes of intensity he’d given her glimpses of. More often than not, his touch remained careful, his pace unhurried, as if he were holding something back. Still, she soared to climax, clinging to him, letting the moment unfold in waves. He followed right after, whispering her name like a promise.
In the afterglow, he gathered her close, their hearts racing in sync. He brushed her hair from her face, kissed her temple, and whispered something too soft to make out—something she felt more than heard. A tiny part of her sensed the tension he kept buried under it.
Emily lay curled against him, warm and safe. But beneath the pleasant afterglow and the comfort of being next to him, uncertainty stirred, prompted by that single moment when his fingers tightened on her hip, when her breath caught. It tugged at her, subtle and confusing, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it.
***
Her bedside clock read 3:59 a.m.
Lying in the dark, trying to shake off sleep, Emily fumbled for what day it was. When she realized she didn’t have to get up before daylight and go to work, a tiny thrill rushed through her. It quickly fizzled because she’d woken anyway, out of habit.
She flipped her pillow to the cool side and shut her eyes, willing herself to sleep. But it wouldn’t come.
By 4:30 she gave up. Fuzzy slippers on, she shuffled to the kitchen and watched her one-cup Keurig hiss and sputter to life. At the table, sipping her off-branddulce-de-lechemedium roast, she replayed the night before in her head.
Sex with Alec had been pleasant—sweet, even. The kiss he’d given her at the door when he dropped her off was nice, too. Last night’s tenderness stood in stark contrast to the wild, breathless urgency of the kiss after he’d spanked her.
She’d come—miracle of miracles—so the sex hadn’t been bad. It simply lacked the rip-each-other’s-clothes-off fire she’d expected. It was more warm bath than wildfire. And it didn’t come close to the nonstop sizzle she’d witnessed at Devil’s Pointe, where Devil and Cari seemed to combust just by looking at each other.
Deanna’s line—sometimes there’s chemistry, sometimes there isn’t—kept ringing in her head.
“Good grief!” She buried her face in her hands. “Maybe that’s why it never worked out with the others.”
All two of them.
She hadn’t lost her virginity until twenty-four. Grief had consumed her for a long time. When the loneliness finally pushed her into making a human connection, it was forgettable. The only other guy since? Equally underwhelming.
Alec was the first man she’d ever wanted. Last night had been the first time it truly mattered. Why wasn’t nice and safe and an orgasm enough?
A worse thought crept in. “What if, subconsciously, I think of Alec not as a lover—but as a brother?” she whispered, horrified.
It would make sense. With Alec, like with Ethan, she felt comfort, trust, protection. Maybe, considering her past, those essential needs had blurred into something other than the hot, jump-his-bones hunger she’d imagined. Feelings she never, ever, associated with her brother.
A little nauseated, she dumped her coffee. On her way to her favorite chair, she glanced at the scene of the crime—the couch.
For a second, she didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or set it on fire.
Emily flopped into her chair and stared at the overstuffed, bargain-basement, all-sales-final sofa that she adored. Every time she looked at it, she’d remember the embarrassment, but also the breathlessness, the tingling fire of intense desire, the wanting.
“I’m going to have to burn it,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands.
