Page 73 of The Only Heart that Matters
“We did. But I need more.”
He slips his shoes off.
“We can’t,” I say, turning Granny’s ring around and around my ring finger. Willing myself to stay strong when I know there’s no way I’m turning back now that I’m here. Now that the second chance for a night of bliss has presented itself. At least I can tell myself I tried to do the right thing.
“Why not?”
He tosses his suit jacket on the desk below a big mirror.
“Because if we keep doing this, one day you’ll hate me. Trust me on this.”
“Well, we’re in the same boat, then. If you knew the things I’ve done, you’d never
let me touch you again.”
He pulls his shirt out of his pants as he takes a step toward me.
“I don’t believe you.”
One more step and he’s close enough to reach out and trace my neck and collarbone with his finger, so he does. It’s all I can do not to lean into his touch.
“And I don’t believe I could ever hate you. So, it looks like we’re on the same page.”
“Angus, I can’t do this again without my heart getting involved.”
He’s close.
So close.
“Honey, mine’s been involved for years.”
He brushes my hair off one of my shoulders, so it falls down my back.
“What?”
He repeats the motion, leaving me feeling exposed.
“You heard me.”
Did I?
It’s one thing for him to be attracted to me. To want me. It’s another for him to admit his feelings run deeper than lust. To confess his heart is involved.
His confession is a straight shot of adrenaline to my heart, bringing it to life as though it’s never fully beaten before. But my brain... my brain can’t quite comprehend the implication.
He gently presses my back against the wall. The look in his eyes says he’s never wanted anything or anyone as much as he wants me right this very second. And as much as I find it hardto believe, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. And that’s saying something, because I’ve seen all of him.
At least, I thought I had.
Between the passion in his eyes, the warmth of his body against mine, and the flame he’s stoked inside me all reason to fight my desire ceases to exist. Because this... Angus... feels like home.
“Angus...”
“No more talking.” He brushes a gentle kiss across my lips. “You keep your secrets and I’ll keep mine.”
He leans in to kiss my neck and I gasp at the feel of his lips and tongue trailing their way across my jaw.
“We shouldn't,” I say in jest, as my hands travel under his shirt, tracing the defined muscles of his torso.
