Chapter 78 78
They finished eating in silence. Watching her lick her fingers nearly did him in. Soon Sherry announced that she was ready to go back to bed. They both stood and she put her robe back on, but neither of them made any move to leave. Sexual tension arced and crackled between them. If it had been any other man, any other situation, Sherry would have initiated a kiss. But the fact that she couldn’t figure out what he was really up to and the specter of Justin from the past held her back. Guys like to do the chasing.
Confused, embarrassed and angry with herself for acting like a 1950s debutante, she turned abruptly. “Goodnight, Justin.” She said,
He grabbed her arm to stop her from leaving, and when she turned he put his hands on her shoulders, waiting to see if she would react, perhaps slap him. He deserved it after what he'd said to her tonight.
She was heavy-eyed and sleep-rumpled, her thick, shiny hair sitting in a messy bun on top of her head, “What are you doing?” she questioned in a husky voice that made him imagine long Saturday mornings in bed.
The room was full of shadows, the hour late. He was tired of reliving the past with this woman. Time to start something new. “I’m going to kiss you.”
Her eyes flared wide, but other than that, she made no response. He wanted her to make the first move, craved it, really. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not with the painful memory of the last time they both stood on this precipice echoing between them, and definitely not after his lousy marriage proposal this evening.
Bending his head, he nibbled her neck, inhaling a scent that was so intrinsically her. Feminine, yes, but strong, unforgettable. His hands slid down her arms, around her waist, over her butt. She was firm and fit, her soft resilient skin underlain with sleek sexy muscles.
Never had he felt or seen her so still, so submissive. And it worried him.
Pulling back, he searched her face. “Touch me,” he begged. “Please.”
As if his words had broken some kind of weird spell, she moved. With a little murmur that might have signaled any one of a number of emotions, she wrapped one arm around his neck and found his mouth with hers. With her free hand she shoved up the tail of his shirt and stroked his chest. Her touch burned him. It had been years since their first and only kiss, but he remembered the taste of her as if it had been only yesterday.
His tongue plundered the sweet recesses of her mouth, tangling with hers. Gasps and moans were barely audible over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. The erection he was unable to hide pulsed between them, thick and hard and ready. When he ground his hips against her belly, she whimpered. Need built and crashed over him, invisible but inescapable. He slid the robe down her arms and let it drop. Lifting her by her ass, he carried her to the chair beside the fire and held her in his lap, bending her back over his arm to kiss her wildly.
Her hair was a silken waterfall. He undid her bun and grabbed handfuls of it, using the grip to guide her mouth to his. Somewhere, deep inside a single rational thought cell, he acknowledged that this was insanity. But the impossible had happened. And Sherry was passionately, eagerly, returning his kiss. His hands trembled, moving recklessly all over her body. A nipped-in waist, delicate collarbone, gently curved stomach. Nipples that begged to be touched, pinched, soothed with a kiss.
He tried to leave her nightie in place. If he stripped her completely at this point, it was all over. He lifted the hem a bit and touched her leg, finding nothing but hot skin. When he moved halfway up her thigh, Sherry clamped her hand over his, blocking further exploration. “Stop,” she said hoarsely.
He did, but it cost him dearly. Every sinew in his body throbbed with the need to take, regardless. “I want you, baby. God knows, I do.”
There was a momentary hesitation as if, even for her, the interruption was agonizing. Without warning she slid from his lap and faced him, arms wrapped around her waist, hair a mad tangle. With the firelight behind her, he could see the outline of her slim legs through the thin fabric of her night wear. Tears glittered in her eyes, and her distress strafed him with a thousand knives. Why could he never get things right with her?
He stood as well, but she held up a hand. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Talk to me,” he begged. “Tell me what you want.”
Her eyes were tragic. She began to speak. Stopped. Swallowed hard. It almost seemed as if she were holding herself tightly to keep from shattering into irreparable pieces. “Is this all you had in mind when you asked me to come here this weekend?” she asked, her voice low and broken. “To ask me to marry you so you can get back at Adam? Did you even have any intention to help me with Sunny Side?…And then this?”
“No,” he muttered, staring past her into the fire for a moment and then returning his gaze to her face. “No,” he said more forcefully.
His groin ached, his eyes were gritty with lack of sleep and his breath came in great gulps that did nothing to help him relax.
It was the wrong answer. Somehow he knew that instantly. Grief flashed in her eyes and disappeared, leaving nothing but blank, mute misery in its wake. “I know we’re snowed in, Justin, but surely you could go without sex for one night. I won’t be your easy lay, your sadly predictable—.”
“That’s not what this is, damn it.” His gut felt like the time he had suffered an appendicitis attack. “You’re special. How can you not know that?”
He took her in his arms again, and this time she didn’t protest. But the fevered beauty he’d held moments ago had turned to ice. He kissed her again and again…tender kisses, slow drugging kisses. All he accomplished was making himself miserable. She fit so perfectly in his arms, it was an absolute miracle. How could she not see it?