“We will pick up where we left off. Soon. But I don’t want to push you. And I promised you dinner.”
As he pierced her with the sincerity in his eyes, she couldn’t resist the urge to run her fingers over his scruffy jawline. The soft bristles sprang back and tickled her. Loving the masculine texture, she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, letting the hair abrade her tender lips again.
In spite of the way her body still hummed with the need for more of him, his concern, his consideration evoked an even stronger reaction in her — one that made something catch in her chest. That response was more alarming than the physical one.
She could do sex. There’d been guys in the past who’d had no problem getting her revved up and into bed. But the something else, the feelings that didn’t fall into the strip-me-naked-now category … those were more foreign. Something she tended to avoid at the earliest hint. And somehow, this man had sneaked past her early-alert system.
Yes, putting on the brakes was an excellent plan.
As if on cue, her stomach, which she’d neglected all day, rumbled.
Nate laughed, his eyes sparkling, and she wondered if her eyes ever sparkled like that. She had her doubts.
“Apparently, dinner is a fantastic idea.”
Several hours later, Nate climbed into his truck, adjusting his jeans, which had become too tight in the fly and damn uncomfortable.
The night had been torture. Beautiful, glorious torture. He hadn’t fucked up the shrimp scampi he’d cooked for dinner — Sophie either really had loved it or was one hell of an actress. They’d sat side by side at the bar, and as whipped as it made him sound, they’d talked and he’d loved every second of it. He’d never felt like this before, never wanted to soak up everything he could learn about a woman, never been content to listen to one talk about whatever she wanted to talk about.
Fuck. He was in deep.
They’d talked about work (his and hers), the best bars and restaurants on the island (Shell Shack and Raul’s), and national economics. She was smart, way too smart for him, but that was a turn-on. Though they hadn’t talked about anything too personal, he felt like he knew her well, even though, technically, they’d only known each other for three days — two if you didn’t count the day she’d been practically unconscious.
And yet he wanted to know more. Wanted to know everything about her.
And physically … yeah. When they’d sat on the couch together watching the Food Network, which she admitted she’d never watched before, and she’d rested her head on his shoulder, he’d paid more attention to the light floral scent of her hair and the way her chest rose and fell with every breath than the TV. Her tits were average size, nothing that would catch a guy’s eye, but he wanted nothing more than to feast on them — and the rest of her.
But not tonight. He’d been a fucking saint tonight — except for the scorching good-night kiss she’d initiated and he sure as hell hadn’t fought — holding himself back, letting her relax and recover, because if he’d given in to what he really wanted to do, she would’ve ended up hating him almost as much as he’d hate himself.
He didn’t know what he was getting himself into, but if he was honest, he didn’t want out. He wanted more. Wanted as much as she would give him. But tonight, while she recuperated from injuries, he’d have to settle for a cold shower.
8
Sophie woke up the next morning wondering if feeling this uncomfortable in her own skin could be a result of a head injury.
She threw the covers back and hopped out of bed, a slow-motion kind of hop because she was leery of the light-headedness that’d plagued her for the past couple of days.
Her heart pounded for no reason, and again, she tried to blame her injuries. Tried to. Deep down, she knew the true cause.
Nate.
No, that wasn’t even it.
It was herself.
She’d practically thrown herself at him on the balcony last night, and then again before he’d left. What was more, she’d let down her guard the entire evening.
For the first time in her life, the guy had been the one to slow things down instead of her. Had Nate not pulled away, she wasn’t sure if she would’ve stopped short of taking him to her bedroom.
Her body responded even now as she thought about him, but of course, it was primed from a night of hot dreams starring none other than her rescuer. Naked. Inside of her.
Her laptop sat on her dresser, and the urge to open it and start working was so strong she went to it and ran her hand over it, as if the case alone could bring her comfort. But she’d made a promise to herself — and Iona — that she’d wait until Monday morning to jump back in.
It shouldn’t be this hard to not work.
As she climbed into the shower without letting the water heat up, she gritted her teeth against the cold and started questioning her sanity. She’d read about people who’d developed totally different personalities after a head injury and wondered if that was the case for her.
By the time the water was hot enough, she was rinsing shampoo out of her hair, racing through her routine just to get away from…
