Right Through Me (The Obsidian Files #1)(34)

She would content herself with that. They both had to.

Really, it wasn’t like she had anything to complain about. She’d maneuvered herself into the luxury lair of a super-hot guy whose plan was to make her come all night long. The only hitch was that he was disappointed because he couldn’t take her to a fancy restaurant, where he wanted to wine her and dine her and ask her about herself where anyone could overhear. Awww, tough. Poor her.

He took her hand, enveloping it in his. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

“Oh, I’m not,” she said quickly. “Really I’m not.”

“We’ll take our time,” he assured her. “There’s no rush. And I’ll be very gentle.”

“You don’t have to . . .”

Too late. He lifted her hand to his lips and started kissing it. Hot, intense, deliberate kisses.

The experience was new to her. His whole playbook was new. He kissed the inside of her wrist. A swift, hot shimmer flowed right up her arm.

“I . . .” She stopped, swallowed, tried again. “Shall we—”

“Get on with it? Let me have a look at you.” He pulled a case out of his pocket, opened it, and removed the dark contact lenses, stowing them. Then he turned his jewel-clear golden eyes squarely upon her.

His gaze triggered an almost unbearable feeling of exposure. She wanted to hide. Sheer stubborn pride kept her chin up.

“You’re better,” he said thoughtfully. “But not one hundred percent better.”

“One hundred percent is not going to happen,” she said wryly. “Unless you wait for a very long time.”

He nodded, having come to some inscrutable decision. “Come with me, then. If you think you’re ready.”

She followed him through vaulted spaces full of shadows. Outside, the wind whipped the dark lakewater to rippling whitecaps. He led her into a big bedroom, decorated with the same masculine elegance as the rest of the house. Wood paneled walls, hardwood floor, a vast bed, floor to ceiling windows with vertical blinds made of paler wood.

He let her go in first, then stopped just inside the door. “Lights on or off?”

She shrugged.

“My call, then.” He hit a switch. A pair of immense floor lamps began to glow softly.

Caro wished that she’d opted for darkness. She was paralyzed with shyness.

“You wanted me to take the lead,” he said. “Now you have to trust me to take you where you need to go.”

She wrapped her arms around herself without answering.

“Do you?”

She finally nodded.

He sat down at the foot of his enormous bed, flanked by the lamps. “Take off your clothes for me.”

She was flustered, and perplexed. “While you sit there and watch?”

“Exactly.”

“Why?” she demanded.

His face was too shadowed to read. “To turn you on,” he said.

“Oh! So this is all for my benefit?” she flung at him.

“And mine. But I’m not the variable in this equation. You are.”

“Not really,” she said. “Don’t forget that I’ve already danced for you. Twice. And I wasn’t wearing much.”

“I remember,” he said. “It turned you on then, too. Both times.”

His unwavering stare had her pinned to the spot. “What makes you think so?”

“I don’t think that it did,” he said. “I know that it did.”

His self-assurance was infuriating. All the more so because it was true. Caro slashed back with a sarcastic question. “I see. Then does my lord command me, his lowly bed slave, to do his bidding?”

“Hot fantasy. Keep talking.”

“When I’m ready,” she said.

“I want to please you so badly. Please.” His low voice was charged with intensity. “Trust me.”

This conflict was winding her so tight, she wanted to scream, break something. But that wasn’t going to get her what she came here for. Only Noah could do that.

So often, over the past months, she’d felt trapped in a parallel universe. On another plane, some other free, happy Caro still lived, unaware that her ghost self, this current Caro, was trapped in an alt-world version of her real life. It had crossed her mind, in her darker moments, that maybe she had actually died at Mark’s hands on that terrible night and was now imprisoned in an endless nightmare from which she could not awaken. A disembodied soul who floated around, craving human contact.

The kind only Noah Gallagher could give her. Sensual pleasure beyond her wildest dreams.

But ghosts didn’t have dreams. She must be real. Noah, too.

And he was right over there. Waiting for her.



*



Noah’s fingers dug into the bedcover. It was so hard to sit and watch when he wanted so so badly to seize her.

Blown glass. She was much too tense for self-indulgent macho bullshit. He’d have to coax her to where she needed to be, but she needed him to be strong, too. She responded to that. He’d seen it in her sig. It would be so easy to screw this up.

For now, he’d sit, dick throbbing against his pants with every slow heartbeat while she slowly worked it out in her head.

“Take your clothes off first,” she said. “Then I won’t feel like I’m at such a disadvantage.”