“I’m being honest.”
“I know.” He opens his eyes. “And that’s exactly the problem. Because when you’re honest like that, when you look at me like you’re looking at me right now, all I want to do is give you everything you’re asking for.”
“So give it to me.”
“Not tonight.” His thumb brushes across my cheek. “Tonight, we’re going to get you into comfortable clothes, eat some curry, and I’m going to learn everything about you that I should have learned years ago, instead of being a cruel bastard.”
“And then?”
“And then, when the time’s right, I’m going to make good on every single thing I’ve promised you tonight.”
I shiver.
“Cold?” he asks.
“No.”
“Then why are you trembling?”
Because you’re looking at me like you want to devour me. Because I can still feel where your hands were. Because I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you right now, and I don’t know what to do with that.
“Just excited,” I manage. “About the curry.”
He laughs, and the tension breaks just enough. “About the curry. Right.”
But he doesn’t move away. His hand stays on my face, his body still close enough that I can feel the heat of him.
“For the record,” he says quietly, “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you right now.”
My breath catches. “Really?”
“Really.” He leans in, presses one more soft kiss to my lips. “And that terrifies me almost as much as it excites me.”
“Why does it terrify you?”
“Because wanting someone this much gives them power over you. And in my world, that’s dangerous.”
I reach up, covering his hand with mine. “I won’t hurt you.” I don’t want to. Only cruel people desire pain for others, and I’m not cruel.
My phone buzzes with a text, loud and insistent. I watch his eyes flick to it then back to me again.
“It’s nothing,” I whisper. If I tell him it’s Bridget, he might start to ask questions. And if he knows something’s wrong…
Something shifts in his expression, leaning into vulnerability I’ve never seen before.
He nods slowly, then steps back, breaking the contact between us.
The loss of his warmth makes me want to pull him back.
“Come on,” he says, his voice still rough. “Let’s get those clothes before I change my mind about being good.”
He offers me his hand, and I take it, letting him lead me toward the house.
But I can still feel the imprint of his body against mine. Can still taste him on my lips.
And I absolutelyknowthat this is just the beginning.
Whatever’s building between us isn’t going to stay controlled for long.
