Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(43)

“Yes.”

“Have you been with a lot of women?”

“No. I fell in love with her when I was fourteen.”

He met her eyes, and she tried to understand what he was telling her. “Do you mean . . .”

“One woman, Rachel. There’s only been one woman in my life.”

“Not even anyone since she died?”

“A hooker in Mexico, but I sent her away as soon as she took off her clothes. You might be right about that dud thing.”

She smiled, feeling strangely lighthearted. “Anybody else?”

He came toward her. “Nobody. And I think I’ve had my fill of questions for now.”

“I’ve told you my entire sexual history, pathetic as it is. You could be a little more forthcoming.”

“I haven’t even thought much about sex since . . . for the last few years. At least not until you did your little striptease.”

As he stopped in front of her, she tried not to let her embarrassment show. “I was desperate. I know I’m not much now, but I used to be pretty.”

He touched her for the first time, picking up a lock of damp hair and hooking it behind her ear. “You’re pretty, Rachel. Especially since you’ve started to eat. You’ve finally got some color in your cheeks.”

She felt as if he were drinking in her face, and it flustered her. “Not to mention my cold nose. It’s okay. You don’t have to lie. All I’m saying is that I used to be fairly nice-looking.”

“I was giving you a compliment.”

“Which was the compliment part? The cold nose?”

“I didn’t say a thing about a cold nose. You’re the one. I—” He laughed. “You’re the most maddening woman. I can’t figure out why I like being with you.”

“A thought for the day, Bonner. If the way you’ve been treating me is a mark of fondness, maybe you’d better take a fresh look at your interpersonal communication skills.”

He smiled. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m cold,” she lied.

“I guess I can take care of that.” Once again, his hand went to her hair. He pushed his fingers through it on one side, then dropped his head and touched his lips to the corner of her jaw that he’d uncovered.

His body pressed against hers. She felt his lips on her cheek, and her arms wound around his waist, drawing him closer. Oh, yes . . . She absorbed the feel of him, the way the muscles in his back flexed beneath her palms, the heat from his chest against her chill breasts, his erection jammed against her. Just beneath the fragile layer of her skin, her pulses hammered.

His lips tugged her earlobe, and the sound of his breathing rasped in her ear. Her eyes drifted shut. She had so much at stake here. If she let this go farther, there would be no tender romance with him, only sex. Could she abandon the fantasy of a perfect love?

But then she realized she had abandoned that fantasy long ago. Somehow her life had grown too spartan for fantasies. She’d stripped her existence down to the bare essentials, not allowing herself even the smallest of luxuries. Would it be so terrible to grab something just for herself? Something that would give her pleasure?

He moved a few inches back, and his palms covered her breasts. As his warmth seeped into her skin, her uncertainty disappeared.

His thumbs brushed her nipples and his voice became a husky whisper in her ear. “I’ve been wanting to touch you here ever since I walked into the house and saw you standing there in this wet pink dress.”

He scraped his thumbnails over the hard tips. She let out a sigh of pleasure. It felt so good. So perfect.

Back and forth his thumbnails went, abrading her through the wet pink cotton. Desire exploded inside her. Spirals of heat coursed through her blood, and she wanted more.

She touched him through his jeans, tentatively at first, then stroking him more aggressively, trying to discern his exact structure beneath the denim.

His breathing grew harsh. She wanted more. She reached for his zipper.

He stepped back as if she’d hurt him. His chest heaved, and he choked out his words. “Maybe we’d better slow down.”

Only seconds earlier she’d been hot, but now a chill passed through her. She heard restraint in his voice, so familiar from her marriage, and he continued as he spoke again. “I don’t want to rush you into anything you’re not ready for.”

That awful consideration. That horrible, stifling solicitude as if she weren’t capable of making up her mind, as if she were breakable, untouchable, undefilable. Not a woman at all.

She’d spilled her guts to him, but he hadn’t understood a thing.

“You’re still new at this.” He put more distance between them and ran the flat of his hand absentminedly over his chest, as if he were smoothing his T-shirt. “Let’s go inside.”


She wanted to slug him and scream at him and burst into tears all at once. Why had she expected him to understand? She couldn’t contain her hurt. “I’m not a virgin! And there’s nothing you could do that’d be too raunchy for me, do you understand? Nothing that’s too kinky! You’ve screwed this up, Bonner, and now you aren’t ever going to touch me.” Her anger boiled, then spilled over. “As a matter of fact, you can go to hell!”

She whirled around and shot down the slippery wooden steps to the lawn. It was wildly overgrown. Shrubbery hung over the flagstone path and grass tangled around her ankles as she fled.