In Too Deep. Sharon Mignerey
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have given just about anything to feel them against his bare skin. Through the pounding of his head, he couldn’t decide what the mixed signals meant. She was in his arms, being held so intimately that with a couple of shifts of their clothes, he could be where he wanted—buried in her. Though she held him tightly, offering the comfort of her body, he wondered if she meant to be offering sex, too.
God, he wished his head didn’t hurt so much. He needed to really think this through.
Her fingers eased into his scalp, finding the pressure points and gently massaging them, the movement easing the throb in his head. Instantly, he relaxed, and his head dropped into the hollow between her neck and shoulder.
“Keep that up, darlin’, and I’m yours for life.”
Her soft chuckle vibrated against his cheek. “Promises, promises.”
Though he was too relaxed to move, the realization that he had said, Yours for life? stabbed at him. Where the hell had that thought come from? Who was he kidding? He was a here-and-now kind of man. And she was…definitely a forever kind of woman.
That knowledge didn’t keep him from wanting to kiss her, from wanting this innocent embrace to morph into torrid sex.
“Better?” she whispered, her magic fingers easing the knots out of the tendons in his neck.
“Mmm.” He kissed her neck, then had to test that silky skin with his teeth.
She shuddered then arched beneath him in that timeless gesture of surrender that his own body recognized. He released her skin, then laved the tiny hurt, kissing her neck. He inhaled deeply, loving the floral, musky scent of her.
His arms came around her and he ignored the throbbing in his head to kiss her the way he had been wanting to practically from the moment he had met her.
Her lips were soft beneath his, trembling, and so sweet.
“Darlin’, let me in.”
She sighed, and then he was in, finding her shy tongue with his own. She moaned, or maybe he did, and the sound drove the last coherent thought from his mind. All that was left behind was a need to be connected to her, a need that he’d die for.
The kiss went on and on. Dark. Carnal. More vital than breathing. He pulled her close, sliding his hands across the satiny fabric of her nightgown, pushing the fabric up…until he reached the inside of her thigh. Soft. So…damn…soft.
Barely daring to breath, he lay there, his head pounding and his arousal throbbing…more scared about making that next move than he had ever been. Time stopped except for brush of his thumb against her leg.
From somewhere he found the honor to ask, “Is this what you want?”
“Lying with you?” The beat of a second passed. “Or sex?”
“Either. Both.”
“What I want.” She cupped his cheek with her hand, the tension seeping out of her body. “You’d have to be a decent man and ask me, wouldn’t you?”
“There’s not a single decent thing about what I’m thinking.”
Still, he had his answer. He dredged a little deeper, found his conscience and removed his hand from the inside of her thigh. Wishing that he’d touched her more intimately, he smoothed her nightgown into place. She’d have to be dead not to notice his erection pressing into her belly, but to his relief she didn’t ease away from him. Her body softened even more, though the thrum of arousal continued its hum through him, urging him to ignore his self-control and the headache that had resumed its incessant pounding. He allowed himself a sweep of his hand over the curve of her bottom and imagined how she’d feel naked.
They lay together like that for a long time, her hands continuing to knead the knots of muscle in his back and neck. Her touch became more languid, then ceased altogether. Her breathing became even as her body relaxed against his, and he realized that she had fallen asleep. He didn’t dare let his mind embrace the implications of that. Sleeping together, in his mind, was a thousand times more intimate than sex, required way more trust than sex. And yet she had fallen asleep in his arms as though he could keep her worries at bay. Sighing, he pressed his lips against the smooth skin at her temple and wished he was the kind of man who could do that for her. But he wasn’t.
He must have slept because sometime later he opened his eyes and the room was light, sunshine streaming through the window. He rolled onto his back and stretched, noticing feminine things, frilly things, about the room that he hadn’t noticed last night. A stack of paperback novels on the nightstand caught his attention, along with a small lamp. He had images of her in here inside that tiny pool of light reading and keeping her worries hidden from her family.
Rubbing a hand over his face, he felt the bandage at his hairline and realized his headache was mostly gone. He hoped it stayed that way when he was vertical.
An erotic dream lingered, its focus Lily. He brought one of the pillows to his nose and inhaled deeply, the scent of her making him instantly hard. For a moment he wondered if she had really been in his bed or if he had simply been wishing so hard that it seemed real. His remembered words tore through his brain. I’m yours for life. What kind of idiot was he to ever say such a thing? No one else had wanted him for life, and he was about to delude himself into thinking that she would. Thank God they hadn’t had sex. He didn’t need that kind of grief in his life.
Instead he’d been even more stupid—letting her under his skin with her hidden worries and vulnerabilities that made him wish he was a different kind of man. He needed to reestablish the relationship on a professional level, and fast. Before he hurt her. Because it would come to that. It always did.
He had just met her, didn’t really know her. She worked for him, for Pete’s sake. Making love with her…what in the hell would he call it, if not that? So they hadn’t had sex. Not quite. What they had shared, though, had been a hell of a lot more intimate. He might have sex with the occasional woman, but he didn’t sleep with them. She worked for him. He had to remember that because he didn’t have a damn thing that he could offer her.
Why even think about that, moron? he told himself, yanking on his clothes. Sex without commitment, he was used to. Somehow those words in relation to Lily sounded dirty. What he had felt with her wasn’t. Not even close.
He had nothing to offer her. Not a woman who had been as happily married as she clearly had been. Not a woman with a cute little girl like Annmarie. He’d done that once before—acquired the ready-made family he had been so sure he wanted. One word described that experience. Disaster.
He raked a hand through his hair and went to the window. Thanks to the sunshine, the water in the cove beyond the house sparkled and the islands in the distance rose from the water like mountains. The scene was so idyllic he was tempted to hope for the possibilities that skipped through his mind.
The daydream lasted for about a second. Until the old accusation, so true it hurt, ripped through his head. You’re too damn scared to let anyone love you. However much you’re hurting me…you’re killing yourself. You just don’t know it.
Oh, he knew. His ex-wife had been right on all counts. No way could he risk going there again.
His emotions in turmoil, he glanced around the room to make sure he had all of his things. Shoes in hand, he pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway. To his relief, the door to Annmarie’s room was closed—with any luck, Lily was still asleep. Coward that he was, he didn’t want to face her.
He crept down the stairs. Uncertainty crawled through his gut, reminding him of being a child in a strange house with people he didn’t know, sure that soon he’d be sent somewhere else because he always was. He hated the feeling and reminded himself he was a man, no longer powerless like the scared boy he had once been.
Downstairs, he went through the hallway to the kitchen. As soon as he put on his shoes, escape was within reach. Seconds away.
“Hi, Mr. Quinn,” Annmarie said from the kitchen chair where