Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(51)
He went still. “Are you crying?”
She didn’t answer. He rolled onto his back and pulled her against him.
“Sorry.” She sniffled, furious with herself for doing this right now.
“It’s no big deal.” He shifted so her head was cradled on his biceps. “I’ve got four sisters. Tears do not scare me.”
She wiped them off her cheeks before they could leak onto him. “I’m not usually like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.”
“Well, let’s see . . . you’re stressed at work. Someone almost killed you today. I dragged you out with me and made you dredge up a bunch of bad stuff from a relationship you’re still grieving over—”
“I’m not sorry it’s over.”
“Yeah, but it lasted two years, right? That has to hurt.”
She nestled her head against his chest, liking the deep sound of his voice against her ear. “Have you ever been in a relationship that long?”
“No, I’m just guessing.” His hand rested on her abdomen, sending a warm shiver through her. “And then there’s this thing happening right now. Pretty intense, huh?”
“Yes.”
“So, your whole day has been emotional overload. It would shake up anyone.”
She sighed. “How can you be so understanding?”
“I told you. Sisters. They were a pain in the ass growing up, but I guess something useful rubbed off on me.”
“You’re a good listener.”
“Thank you.”
Brooke discovered she felt better. Again.
He kept his hand on her stomach, and she closed her eyes, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. It felt so good to be held like this at the end of a terrible day. Or—she imagined—at the end of any day. She felt a pang of longing that was becoming familiar. She wished her life weren’t such a mess right now.
“It’s late,” she said quietly. “I should go.”
“Stay awhile.”
She bit her lip. “That’s probably not a good idea.”
“I think it’s a great idea. Does my opinion count for anything?” His tone was light, which came as a relief. The last thing she wanted to do right now was hurt his feelings.
“If I stay we’ll fall asleep. I’ll end up spending the night, and that’ll just . . .”
He shifted to sit up on his elbow. “What?”
“Confuse things.” She studied his face in the dimness, hoping her words wouldn’t upset him. But he didn’t look upset, he looked perfectly calm. “Today was crazy. Everything. But fundamentally, nothing is different. I still don’t want to get tangled up in anything.”
He stroked his hand down to her hip, making her breasts tighten. “Can I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“Do you feel good right now, after what we just did?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have fun?”
“Yes. Obviously.”
He smiled. “Then what’s confusing? We’re two people who happen to like each other and we’re having some fun together.”
“Oh, yeah?” She tried to match his lighthearted tone. “What makes you so sure I like you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the way you were screaming my name a minute ago?”
Her cheeks flushed at the reminder. “I’m serious. I’m really worried about this, and you act like it’s so simple.”
“It is simple. We can keep things casual. No pressure.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I don’t believe me. I’ve never been good at casual. I tend to analyze things and fixate on potential problems.”
“Well, don’t.”
“I can’t help it. That’s why I’m good at my job. I analyze everything to death and I stress out all the time.”
His hand slid from her hip up to her ribs, trailing fire along the way. “You know, I’ve got something for that.” He kissed her mouth. Then her neck. Then her collarbone.
“What?”
He cupped her breast in his hand and toyed with it, knowing full well how sensitive she was. “The perfect stress relief.” His gaze held hers as he moved down her body. “Better than hot yoga.”
“That’s big talk.”
“It’s true.”
Apprehension swept through her because she knew exactly where he was going with this, and she wasn’t comfortable. He kissed her sternum, then hovered over her navel. He traced his tongue over it and she tried to clamp her thighs together, but he held her still.
“Relax.”
“Sean—”
“Please?”
She leaned her head back and did just what he asked, giving herself over to the heat of his mouth and the exploration of his hands, even though it wasn’t relaxing at all—it was maddening. Every stroke of his tongue and his fingers made her more and more desperate for something just out of reach.
How had he done it so soon? How had he zeroed in on her exact pleasure points when everything was new between them? He’d somehow become an expert at how to kiss her and touch her and coax her into sharing every part of herself. She couldn’t think about how he’d done it because she was quickly losing the ability to think at all, and the pressure built and built until she couldn’t stand it and she needed him with her.