His soft expression made him appear boyish, carefree, and inside her, a well of tenderness bubbled over. She remembered their talk, his hands on her skin, and she instantly went up in flames, her desire for him returning—had it ever really left?
Why not pick up where they’d left off?
Yes, oh, yes.
As stealthily as she was able, she crawled from the bed and tiptoed into the bathroom, took care of business and brushed her teeth, then crawled back into bed. Beck, who hadn’t stirred, now curled around her, as if he’d been waiting for her, his warm breath a caress against her neck.
“Beck,” she whispered, hoping to ease him awake.
He sighed softly, inserting a leg between hers and draping a hand over her rib cage. Anticipation caused her to tense. If he moved that hand up just a few inches...
Up...up...it slid, and she held her breath—do it, please do it—but he stopped just before he actually cupped her. Hot tremors swept through her, and she swallowed a whimper.
“Beck. Wake up.” Please.
His thumb brushed upward again and again, sending heated shivers through her. More desperate by the second, she squirmed against him. When the not-quite-enough torment continued, she inched downward, forcing him to cup her at last. All the while his thumb continued to brush up—but still he made no contact with her distended nipple.
The air deflated from her lungs. “Beck,” she repeated, arching up, rubbing against his thigh—yes, yes!—practically driving herself insane with the promise of more.
The movement of his thumb slowed as it drew closer, closer to where she needed it most—but not close enough.
Argh! “Beck. I mean it. Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey.”
Again his thumb brushed up—and this time...this time he stroked her. A cry of delight parted her lips, lances of pleasure shooting through her. Realization, too. He couldn’t be doing this in his sleep. He just couldn’t. The effect was too masterful, the touch too skilled.
She flipped open her lids—and found him smiling at her with wicked intent.
* * *
“YOU SMELL LIKE cinnamon and mint, baby. Did you brush your teeth hoping I’d kiss you?” The thought wrecked him. She’d wrecked him.
“Yes. Yes.”
Beck knew he should resist. He’d come here with every intention of telling her the plan. He would be setting her up with someone else. But look where he’d ended up. In her bed, wrapped around her, desperate for her.
He couldn’t resist her. He’d always been a sexual man, but never like this. She’d somehow caused him to devolve, stripping him of etiquette and turning him into little more than an animal.
“You want me, even though I won’t commit to you?” Let there be no misunderstandings between them. “You’re willing to be with me?”
She stiffened. “Even though.”
Guilt pricked at his gut-wrenching desire. Her reaction, despite her words... He should definitely get up, dress and leave. He nuzzled her neck instead, the need for her, only her, undeniable. “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby.”
“This,” she said, arching into his touch like a needy little kitty, “is a wonderful start.”
This was only the beginning. “Good.” He lifted his head. “Do not move from that position.”
“But—”
“I mean it.” He dragged himself out of bed and padded to the bathroom, where he quickly brushed his teeth, using her brush and paste. She wouldn’t be the only one with minty-fresh breath. That done, he returned to the bed, any lingering resistance dying as he peered down at her. A flawless treat, ready to be devoured.
Urgency rode him hard—take her, now, now—but he stood in place. “So there are no misunderstandings, I need you to tell me how far I can go.”
She licked her lips. “You can put your hands...your mouth on me. Give me pleasure. I dreamed about you...ached for you all night.”
Ruthless need battered at him as he crawled toward her. “Pleasure...as in sex?”
Now she hesitated. “I don’t... I...”
All right. He’d take that as a no. No matter. He could do plenty with his hands and mouth. And she could do plenty with hers. “I believe we ended last night with your hand right...here.” He placed her palm flat against his erection, hissed at the razor-sharp desire careening through him.
“Yes,” she moaned, squeezing him. “You’re so big.”
He gently bit into her bottom lip, drawing the tender flesh between his teeth. “The better to please you.” He pushed up her tank, baring her breasts. Her beautiful, rosy-tipped breasts—
“Wait.” She began to struggle against him, frantic. “Don’t. I’ll leave the shirt on.”
But it was too late. He saw the scars. A collage of them began just below her collarbone and stretched all the way to her navel, even covering her breasts. There were jagged pink lines and patches of puckered skin, as if someone else’s skin had been sewed to her. The sight almost proved to be his undoing, not because it was ugly—nothing about her was ugly—but because of the pain she must have endured.
A wave of tenderness overtook him, and he kissed the tip of one scar...the tip of another. He had to know what had happened to her, and he had to know now. But when his gaze flipped up to her face and he realized she was staring just over his shoulder, that she’d gone stiff as she waited for his verdict, his rejection, he decided he couldn’t do it. Not now.