“God no. You’re…” He sucked in a breath and admitted what he’d been trying to deny since the moment he’d laid eyes on her. “You’re everything.” What he’d meant was “you’re innocent perfection,” but that wasn’t right either, because he didn’t care about virginity in a woman. He wanted a different sort of purity. He wanted her because she’d never play games, and he’d had enough of those for a lifetime. He wanted her unadulterated beauty, her guileless desire, her truthfulness.
She huffed out a disbelieving laugh and slid a hand down his scarred cheek, while something inside of Luc loosened, maybe even disappeared entirely.
“All right, then.” Her eyes went to the condom crushed in his hand. “Why don’t you show me what that’s all about?”
He turned to kiss her palm and imagined—for just one second—how this could be if she stayed. If, one day, they stopped using condoms. He’d build onto the cabin and… No point, though, was there? For her safety. For his.
Throwing off the fantasy, he asked, “You’ve never seen one?”
She shook her head.
“This is to keep you…us…from having a”—he swallowed back another totally misplaced wave of regret—“a baby.”
She blinked. “Oh.”
“Men put it on for birth control. But also against disease.” Was that hesitation on her face? “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want.”
“I’ve never…” Oh hell. What was she going to say? “I’ve only ever done this with the…man on top.”
“But you’ve done it?”
“Yes.” She paused, pursed her lips, and lifted that strong chin. “Or it’s been doneto me, I guess.”
He shoved away the anger that brought up in him and focused on the other thing. She wasn’t a virgin. That was a relief. She was a virgin, though, when it came to pleasure. That notion got him riled up again. He could be the one to give her pleasure for the first time. And with that excitement came a sense of responsibility.
“Okay.” He swallowed and rose from the floor to settle onto the sofa beside her. Eyes on her disheveled body. “Youdo it. You’re in charge.”
“Me? I couldn’t. I’d—” She stopped, her expression a caricature of denial and then…excitement? She smiled. “Really?” Her whisper covered him like a caress, and all he could do was nod and smile back. Had anyone ever looked at him like that? Like he was something to be enjoyed, not just the other way around?
“Yes. You can do it. It does not have to be me.”
Her gaze turned greedy, her eyes more potent than the touch of her hand.
“I don’t…I don’t know how to start.”
“We don’t have to do the condom right away,” he offered, wanting to kick himself. “We can…do whatever you want. What do you want, Abby?”
* * *
Abby was finally doing what she’d once been accused of: defiling a man. And it was glorious. This time, she couldn’t seem to dredge up any guilt over it. All she could find was excitement, warm and electrifying.
Never mind that she was sitting naked with a man. Being unclothed was a novel feeling as it was, but to be close enough to feel his body warmth was… Drawing in a shuddering breath, she shifted closer. It was exhilarating and frightening and liberating all at once.
“What do I do first?”
He sounded breathy when he asked, “What do you want to do?”
“I wantyouto take off your shirt. I want to see the rest of you.”
“Help me do it,” he said, the words sharp spikes of need between her legs. “Undo my shirt.Please.”
With trembling hands, she leaned over, reveling in the brush of her breast against his arm, and undid one pale button at a time, until he sat there in a tighter, long-sleeved top.
“Will you help me with this one?” She pulled at the fabric.
Almost impatiently, he yanked the cotton over his head and—
“Oh, goodness.” Abby was without words. She let her eyes take him in. The warm humanity of him was so different close up—breathtaking and a bit intimidating, but above all, real. She’d underestimated his size, somehow assuming that layers of clothing added to him. Instead, he was bigger, more physical than she’d imagined. His wide chest was packed tight with muscle, so vital that she ached to taste it.
