His Wedding Date (The Second Chance Love Series, Book 2) (27 page)

"I know you don't," she said finally. "But what do you actually want right now?"

Brian breathed a little easier then. That part was easy. "You," he said, letting himself take that last step, to settle his body flush against hers. "In my bed, tonight. I don't deserve it, not after what I did in Tallahassee, but it's what I want."

It was a little like skimming along atop a live wire, he thought. The power was racing between them. One wrong move and it could all turn to ashes.

He didn't want to frighten her. He wouldn't allow himself to push her or to pressure her—a fine line he didn't think he'd crossed just yet. But he was coming treacherously close to his own breaking point. Sweat beaded on his skin. His hands settled onto her arms, and she swayed on her feet, coming closer one moment, easing away the next.

The saxophone played on, the beat becoming hypnotic. He could imagine picking up the beat himself, thrusting into her in time to the music.

He'd done that—that night. But he didn't do it now.

Not yet.

If she'd been anyone else, he would have promised her he'd make it good for her, that he wouldn't stop until she was burning up inside for wanting him, just as he was burning alive wanting her.

But the two of them were long past the point of worrying about satisfying a physical need. It went much deeper than that. He hoped she knew that. He needed to try to explain it to her, but he wasn't sure he could put all the words together just now.

He pulled her a fraction of an inch closer, gently thrusting his painfully aroused body against hers, showing her this time, rather than telling her, exactly how much he wanted her.

Her lips parted, her breath coming out in a rush. It reminded him of the way he had felt, earlier in the day, taking nothing but the smallest, sweetest taste of her.

A taste wouldn't do it now. Like a starving man, he wanted to devour her. He wanted to feast on her body and reach clear down to her soul, to touch it with his own. He wanted to take all of her, to see all of her, to make her a part of him and to become a part of her.

He wanted all of that.

But he took only a taste of her lips, one brief touch of his lips to hers, one brief glimpse of the pure passion smoldering between them.

He was dangerously close to losing control.

"Tell me what you want," he said, before he lost it all. "I need to hear you say it. I need to know that you want me as much as I want you."

Shelly knew she would hear no miraculous admissions of love from him, not tonight, probably not ever. "I do..." she said, hesitating.

She would be foolish to hold out for that. Brian wouldn't say such a thing to her unless he meant every word.

And he didn't love her.

It didn't hurt quite as much as she remembered. At one time, it had been absolutely devastating. Maybe she'd learned to live with it, after all. Maybe knowing how much he desired her, if only at this moment, helped in some small way to make up for the lack of his love.

She'd won much more than some inconsequential admission of desire from him. They wouldn't have come this far if that was all it was.

Women had been after him for years, and if all he'd wanted was a woman, he could have found one who wanted nothing more than to satisfy a physical need.

He knew she loved him. He wasn't a man who toyed with a woman. She knew he wouldn't be here if nothing more than desire was involved.

But at least he did want her. He wanted her desperately. She watched him at war with himself. The muscles in his arms were clenched tight while the hands that held her were made gentle by nothing more than the force of his determination to make them so.

He would let her go, even now, if that's what she wanted.

She didn't see how she could ever escape this awful push and pull inside her, between what she wanted from him and what he was offering her tonight. But like him, she also didn't see how she could pry her body apart from his in this moment.

"I do want you," she said. "I always have."

"And that's enough?" he asked urgently, his lips a breath away from hers, ready and more than willing, more than eager to cross the final barrier. "For tonight? That's enough?"

"Yes."

* * *

They never made it to the bed. At least, not the first time. Shelly melted against him, suddenly breathless, boneless, bloodless.

She lost all but the vaguest recollections of the world around her. The robe, his robe, that they almost didn't get off her because it meant letting go of each other for a moment. The cool edge of the marble as he sat her on top of it, the slickness of the steamed mirror at her back. Brian watching her reflection in it, telling her how beautiful she looked with her body wrapped around his.

Greedily, she wanted him right then, and she wanted forever.

She settled for one night.

His body, tall and sleek and hard, against her and inside her. His mouth, a lifeline she couldn't get enough of. His arms around her, sure and strong, fitting her to his slow, sweet, tormenting rhythm, matched to the sound of the saxophone.

She begged him, pleaded with him, to let it end, before she surely died from the pleasure, but he didn't. He teased her unmercifully, taking her right to the edge, then backing down again, back and forth, again and again. He took her one step closer each time, pushed her ever higher into her own spiraling, aching need.

It was madness, she realized in some corner of her mind as she clung desperately to his sleekly muscled hips, urging him closer. It was impossible, but she wanted him closer, wanted him deeper inside her until the lines between them merged and there was no more of him, no more of her, only the magic that was the two of them.

Finally he gave in, that maddening self-control of his shattered at last. His eyes blazed down into hers, his body and hers giving way to a passion that would no longer be denied.

"Shelly," he whispered then, and later, when he carried her to bed and loved her all over again.

Chapter 17

As she woke that morning, Shelly stretched and rolled over in the bed, finding a spot that still held the scent of Brian's soap or cologne and wished she could stay there, the night never ending.

She felt a shiver work its way down her spine, an unsettling mixture of pleasure and fear. If she couldn't make the night last forever, she had to face him in the light of day, and she didn't want to do that. She wanted to hide somewhere, alone, and try to figure out what the night had meant, both to her and to him.

A blush rose in her cheeks at the image flitting through her mind from the wonderful, seemingly endless night that had passed. He hadn't said he loved her, but he'd taken her with a passion she'd never experienced before, never even imagined.

The doubting side of her wondered if he'd worked so hard to show her how great his desire was to make up for the fact that he didn't love her.

He would give her all he could to make up for the words he couldn't say.

But she knew he would, above all, give her his honesty. He hadn't said he loved her, because he didn't. Having him make love to her would have to be enough, for now, probably forever.

She wouldn't be sorry for that. She couldn't be. The night had meant too much to her, and the memories would be too precious to allow any regrets to spoil them.

He had been a demanding lover and a generous one. A tireless, passionate, sexy man who made it quite clear that he would gladly do anything to please her.

And he had.

Shelly opened her eyes and glanced around the room. No sound came from the bathroom, so he'd probably gone downstairs already. Sunlight was coming in through the blinds, and the clock on the nightstand read 8:10, late for her and for him.

Much as she'd love to linger here in this bed, she had to get up. She had to face Brian, get on with her life. There was work to be done, Charlie's company to be put back together, his killer caught, his wife provided for somehow.

Once that was done... Who was to say what would happen then?

* * *

Shelly finally came downstairs, wearing her snug jeans and a man's shirt.

Brian didn't think it would be such a good idea to demand to know whether it was his shirt, although he liked the idea of her digging around in his closet, looking for something to wear. He'd wanted to go back upstairs and wake her with a kiss, wanted to make love to her just one more time as she came awake, before she had time to think too much about all that had passed between them.

The complications, the uncertainties, the fears, had faded in the night, the passion overcoming them. That wouldn't be the case in the bright light of day.

But more than anything, he knew he had to keep her safe, and she wasn't safe here. So he'd been up thinking and making plans. Now he had to convince her to go along with what he wanted and leave town until it was safe for her to be here.

Shelly hesitated, just inside the doorway, without even coming into the kitchen. She looked very young and very uncertain.

"Good morning," he said.

He stayed where he was, though he'd rather have been by her side.

Although she'd come to him of her own accord the night before, he still felt more than a twinge of guilt. He'd pushed her, even if he'd barely touched her at first. He'd pushed more than he had a right to do. He'd wanted her so desperately. Though he wanted very much to go to her and to take her into his arms now, he wasn't sure how she'd take that. He was afraid of where it might lead.

He didn't know if he could do what needed to be done right now if he started out with her in his arms.

She was going to be angry enough with him before the morning was over.

He'd come to some decisions a few hours ago, once he'd managed to pry his thoughts away from the night they'd shared. And she wasn't going to like them.

"You all right?" he asked, wanting to tell her a thousand things other than what he was about to say.

She nodded.

Time was running out, he noted as he glanced at his watch.

"I have an appointment soon with Charlie's lawyer to see if we can get the tax records out of the IRS and the banking records."

"Oh." She hesitated, still not budging from the doorway.

"You don't have much time, either," he added.

"What?"

"There's a commuter flight leaving this morning at ten, with a connecting flight that'll take you to Tallahassee. I'd like you to be on it. I booked a ticket in your name."

He watched her complexion turn chalky. This wasn't the best way to start a morning-after conversation with a woman he'd made love to all night long.

"I want you to go to my parents' house," he said. "You'll be safe there until this whole thing is over."

She shook her head, her color a little better. "I'll be fine here."

"You can't promise me that any more than I can promise to protect you." He wanted more than a promise. He wanted a guarantee, and this was the only way he could think of to be sure of that.

"I never asked you to promise to protect me, and I—"

"But I thought I could, and I've been doing a damned poor job of it."

That got her back up, and Brian saw the conversation going downhill quickly.

"I'm not yours to protect," she said.

"Would you like to be?" he asked, stopping her cold.

She stiffened, her back ramrod straight. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and tilted her head to the side.

He saw the bruises Grant Edwards had left on her throat the night before. The sight of them didn't do anything to help him calm down, which he needed to do if he was going to talk her into getting the hell out of town.

"I want a lot of things right now," he told her as he realized he should have started this conversation with her in his arms. "I could start listing them all, but I don't see how getting into that would solve anything."

Brian allowed himself one step toward her. When she didn't back away, he took another. "Two things are on top of my list, and they both concern you. First, I want you safe. Second, when this whole thing is over, I want some time alone with you to figure out exactly what this thing between us is. Surely, we both deserve that."