Well, yes, that would be ideal.
“We don’t have to plan the rest of it. Don’t give it too much weight. If you want, later, we can spend time together. When you’re ready, I’ll help you when you need help. Right now, though? It doesn’t have to be all of that.” He pointed to his bare chest. “It can be just this.”
She gulped, because she’d never known Travis to be sincere like that.
What did she want?
Did she want the whole package? Yes.
No question.
No questions with him.
She’d never even considered it until literally yesterday.
Still, she nodded. Not because she told her head to move. It seemed to do it all on its own. “I want that. This. I think I want to try for the whole thing.” Maybe this really, really was what she wanted. “I think…”
“You’re doin’ a lot of that.”
“Maybe I’m just off-limits. That’s why we’re here.” She gestured to the bed.
The storm in his eyes raged harder. “Did you ever think that maybe we’re here because I just needed the right reason?”
“What’s that?” And did she want to know?
“You, Rach.” The storm had passed, and his blue eyes settled on her and she knew whatever battle she’d wanted to wage, thought she had to wage, she’d lost. And she’d won. And nothing made sense. “The right reason is you.”
He extracted his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out three condoms—apparently, he had high hopes—and tossed the wallet to the nightstand.
“Lie down.” He watched, a new fire in his eyes this time.
One like she’d never seen before.
“How do you take off the shaper thing?” he asked,
settling the condoms on the pillow within arm’s reach but not intrusively in the way.
Travis was good at being prepared. Who knew?
“It’s just…like…” She wanted to hide her face behind her palm. She didn’t, because she had a feeling that would only ignite more of whatever was going on in his eyes. While that look excited her, it also scared the bejeezus out of her.
“Like?” he asked. “Like underwear.”
Just like that—lickety-split—his face hovered over hers. “And you’re wearing this underwear?”
“Yes?” She sort of asked and sort of answered.
“It’s covering you?” he asked. “Between your legs?”
“Yes?” The sort of asked, sort of answered thing was becoming habit with not-bickering Travis.
“Then, ma’am,” he said, leaning heavily on the accent. “I guarantee this shaper thing is desirable, and sexy, and somethin’ I want to see. Nothing you say will make it not.” He said the words, and he moved to pin her with his hips against her own, the impressive evidence of his arousal against her stomach, and then his mouth descended to meet hers.
Urgent, sweet, and a balm that made her not care what kind of underwear she wore, because pretty soon she’d be wearing none and that was perfectly awesome. Preferable, even.
“Lift for me.” His words against her mouth were gravel and crushed marble as he straddled her again, guiding her hips so she raised them, her heels pressing into the white duvet cover.
With her hips lifted, he pushed her dress up to her waist.
