“Lydia . . .”
“If you don’t . . .” She looked so wounded, she couldn’t even finish the sentence. And that did it.
Because suddenly the words that had been echoing inside his head roared through him like a freight train, and he realized he did want to do something about them.
He couldn’t leave her looking like that. He reached out and cupped her face, holding her steady as he leaned in and kissed her.
She drew in a breath as soon as their mouths touched, and the sweet sigh nearly undid him.
Remington Lane had kissed any number of women, but none of them had ever been like this.
There wasn’t any knowing involved before. And he knew Lydia Clay.
He knew her better than he knew just about anyone. He knew the way she sighed, and the way she laughed. He knew the way she cared for others, whether they be human or animal. He knew the way she lit up when she saw her nephew, and how she loved her family. Most of all, he knew the way she looked in this white dress, and how it had set his blood on fire from the moment he’d walked through the front door tonight, even if he hadn’t wanted to admit that’s what it was.
The connection between them was made up of so many moments.
Going back before she had brought him Hank, but it had certainly intensified recently.
And he was obsessed with the fact that no man had ever touched her before.
Obsessed to the point of madness.
So now he was kissing her. Not just a test. Not only a taste.
He angled his head and took the kiss deeper. She parted her lips, responding, the tip of her tongue testing the tip of his.
He groaned, unable to believe that he was doing this here.
But more able to believe he was doing it with her than he would have ever imagined.
He moved away from her and studied her face.
Her pupils were dilated, her eyes wide, her lips parted just slightly. “That’s what I was trying to ask for,” she said. “For a start.”
“You want me to take your virginity.” Just saying it made his stomach knot up hard. Made him feel . . .
He was turned on. Hell.
He hadn’t imagined any of the moments between them. Not at her place, not during Hank’s bath. Not when she’d looked him dead in the eye and told him she’d never been with anyone before.
It was about him. About the two of them, and hell and damn if that didn’t . . .
Thrill him.
Was it a completely messed up thing to want to be a woman’s first? He had never really considered that before. It had never mattered. It just mattered because it was her. If it wasn’t him, then it was going to be somebody. Lydia was sweet, and she was pure. She was untouched by so many of the things in this world. She had had a good childhood, a sweet one. She hadn’t had to deal with any of the things that he’d had to deal with as a kid. It was why she always seemed more fay than human to him. Almost otherworldly.
And it was completely fair that she wanted to have . . . more. Everything. She should have it. Maybe it was selfish, twisting up the truth to think that it was a good thing for him to introduce her to sex. But he would make it good. Hell, he would make it great. He was very, very in tune with women’s bodies. He was fascinated by how things worked, after all. The study of thefemale orgasm was one that he had dedicated himself to and took very seriously.
Hell, when a man engaged in casual sex, he had to be an expert on body language. He had to be good at communicating and extracting communication from the other person.
He made it his mission.
He would do right by her.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he chastised himself. For twisting this up, for creating a scenario where somehow he was a saint for getting to have sex.
Except, it could never be that basic, not with Lydia.
