Somebody to Love (Gideon's Cove #3)(80)

Beauty suddenly decided that James was all right, because she chose that moment to stand, putting her paws against his knee, as if she was cutting in. James smiled down at the little dog, then looked at Parker, and honest to God, she was actually dizzy, his smile was that good, crinkling his eyes, changing his face.

He leaned in a little closer, still smiling, still not kissing her, but please, it’d better be soon or she might die. She closed her eyes, and thank goodness, his lips were against hers, the softest brush, so smooth and warm. Another brush. Then he did kiss her, a gentle, soft kiss that she returned carefully, almost shyly.

This was so different from that first time, so long ago, when she’d barely been thinking, when she’d used him to distract herself from loneliness. This was slow and tender and meltingly wonderful, James’s mouth against hers, waiting for her response. Then he cradled her head in his hands, angling for better access to her mouth, and kissed her more fully. Her hand slid into his thick, curling hair, and he held her closer, that beautiful mouth kissing hers as if there was nothing more he wanted to do other than stand out here and do exactly what they were doing.

Beauty whined, and James smiled. He pulled back a little and smoothed Parker’s hair back from her hot face.

“The blackflies are starting to bite,” Parker whispered.

“Maybe we should go in,” he said, that smile still playing at his mouth.

“Okay.”

Then he took her hand and led her off the dock, up the stairs and into the house, and Parker went with him as if it was normal, not as if her legs were watery and her whole body was pulsing with a warm, honeyed glow; as if this was old hat, no big deal, when the truth was, she felt something akin to terror here, all that warm, glowing stuff aside. Beauty leaped neatly onto the couch, ditching them, the good dog. James led her down the hall, past his room. There was her bedroom. Yep. Terror.

James stopped outside her door, tilted her chin up and kissed her again. He stopped almost immediately this time, pulling back to look at her. “You okay?” His voice was gentle. Which made sense. He was a gentle man.

The thought somehow made her more scared than ever.

“Yeah! No. It’s just…I’m a little…nervous,” she heard herself say.

Yes. The woman who’d given birth to an eight-pound, nine-ounce bouncing baby boy in a total of three hours. No drugs, either. Not really virgin-bride material.

His eyes were dark. “We don’t have to do anything, Parker,” he murmured, and his voice alone made Lady Land croon.

“Right. No, I know that. Which, thank you, by the way.” She took a shaky breath. “No, James, it’s just the last guy I was with was…” She felt her head wiggling around like a bobble-head figurine and managed to stop. She looked at his chest, which seemed like a safe place to park her eyes. “You. You’re the last guy I was with.”

He didn’t answer. She continued looking at his chest. Fascinating shirt, all white and, um…cottony. Then he cupped her face so she really did have to look at him.

His eyes were soft. And he was smiling. He looked so relaxed, how could he be relaxed when she was about to jump out of her skin?

“And that was… But this…” she said. “It feels—it feels different.” Her voice was a whisper now.

Very slowly, as if she were a skittish fawn—Why a fawn? Why not a skittish mule or ferret? Oh, Lord, her brain was going to explode—James kissed her, just a soft brush on the lips. “Maybe because we’re friends now,” he murmured.

And that was it exactly. Whether it was good or bad, she didn’t know.

It was probably good.

He leaned in, so slowly, and kissed her again, and without quite realizing she’d moved, she found her hands were sliding against his lean rib cage, up to his chest.

“Is that a yes?” he whispered, pulling back the slightest bit.

“It’s a yes,” she breathed.

“Good.”

“Yes.”

He reached behind her and opened the door, his mouth finding her again, hot and slow and sweet. Backed her into the room, one hand undoing her hair clip, sliding his fingers through her hair, down her back. Her dress was suddenly looser—he’d unzipped it, clever lad—and his tongue brushed hers, and suddenly her hands remembered what they were for. They were for unbuttoning his shirt, even if they were shaking a little. His skin was hot and smooth, and she jerked his shirt open, exposing that beautiful torso, and pulled him down on the bed, suddenly desperate to get him on her, in her.

He captured her hands in his and pinned them gently above her head, his fingers twining with hers. “Not this time,” he whispered, kissing just below her ear. “This time, we take things slow.”

Then, his mouth hot and sure as he tasted her neck, his hands releasing hers to slip her dress off her shoulders, James proceeded to show her why some things in life shouldn’t be rushed.

And you know what?

The guy had a point.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

WHEN JAMES WOKE up, the sun was at an odd angle, shining right into his face. The bed felt different.

He bolted upright. Reality, or really, really excellent dream? Nope, this was her room. Clock said 8:13 a.m. The latest he’d slept in months. He turned his head, and sure enough, a gorgeous female was looking at him.

Just not the one he expected.