You can do this. It may be your only chance for a very long time.
My reflection looks unconvinced.
When I come out, Lorcan's stretched on top of the covers, ankles crossed, reading something on his phone. He glances up—and then his eyes do a slow pass, from my wet hair down to my bare legs, and the phone lowers to his chest, completely forgotten.
"Hello, beautiful,” he says.
"Hi." I cross to the bed, sit down, and face him. And because I don't know how to do this, and apparently I’m painfully awkward, I lead with my agenda. "I want to have sex tonight."
He blinks. Then he sets the phone on the nightstand with exaggerated care. "Say that again. Slower. I want to remember it exactly."
I roll my eyes. “Don’t make this more awkward than it is.”
"You proposed sex like you were calling a board meeting. I don’t think ‘more awkward’ is possible." But he's turned toward me now, and there's something underneath the grin—something focused and heated that makes my stomach flip. "Why tonight?"
"Because I decided."
"Because you decided." He nods slowly. "Not because you want me so badly you can't stand it."
"Don't flatter yourself."
"Wouldn't dream of it." He reaches out and catches a strand of my wet hair, and winds it around one finger. His voice drops. "Maeve. Look at me."
I do. Mistake. His eyes are dark green in the lamplight and they're not laughing anymore.
"I want you," he says. "I've wanted you since you walked into that church looking like you'd fight God himself. So believe me, nothing on this earth sounds better than what you just offered." His thumb brushes my jaw. "But not with you scheduling me like a cleaning shift. When it happens, it's going to be because you're aching for me. Not because I’m the only man around.”
Heat crawls up my neck. "That's not—I'm not?—"
"You're sitting three feet away with your arms crossed looking like you're about to donate an organ."
I look down. My arms are, in fact, crossed. Damn him.
"So here's my counteroffer." He shifts closer. The mattress dips, and gravity slides me toward him whether I like it or not. “I warm you up tonight. And when you’re ready, really ready, we can go further. Deal?"
"You and your deals."
"I'm a businessman." His mouth finds the spot beneath my ear, and my whole body lights up like a neon sign. "Deal, Maeve?"
"Deal," I breathe.
And then he kisses me. It's not like last night's kiss. Last night was careful, a question. This one is hot and heavy and needy. His hand slides into my damp hair and tilts my head, and he takes my mouth like he's starving for me. I make a sound I've never made in my life—a cooing moan—and he swallows it with a low growl that vibrates straight through me.
"There she is," he murmurs against my lips. "There's the little vixen.”
He lays me back against the pillows slowly, and settles himself over me, one thigh between mine, and he just—looks. He traces my face with his eyes like he's memorizing it.
"You're so beautiful it's actually a problem," he says. "I tried to count inventory today. Do you know how many kegs we have? Neither do I." He kisses my throat. My collarbone. His words rumble against my skin. “My thoughts are entirely on you."
His hand finds the hem of my sleep shirt and pauses there, fingertips warm on my hip. Asking. I nod, and he draws it up and over my head, and then I'm bare from the waist up under a man's scrutiny for the first time in my life, and I have to fight everything in me not to cover myself in embarrassment.
He exhales like he's been hit.
"Christ, Maeve."
“My breasts are small," I blurt, because apparently my mouth panics when I do.
“You’re perfect." His voice has gone rough, wrecked, nothing like his easy pub-charm voice. "Everything about you is perfect, and I'm going to show you how much I think so until you know too—until you have no doubt.”
