Promise Not To Tell(39)

“I’m going to make a cup of herbal tea. Want some?”

“Sure.”

She went into the kitchen. “Do you think we’ll be getting up at this hour of the night for the rest of our lives?”

“I have no idea. But I have to tell you that it’s nice to know I’m not alone. One thirty in the morning is a very weird time of night. Things feel different at this hour.”

She reached up into the cupboard for the box of tea. “Tell me about it.”

“Do you think you might want to kiss me again?”

Startled, she fumbled the box of tea. It tumbled to the counter. Little packets spilled out. She turned quickly and stared at Cabot. He stood in the entrance to the kitchen, watching her intently, as if the answer to his question was of vital importance.

She took a breath. “Only if you think you might want to kiss me.”

He moved toward her in his easy, gliding way and stopped directly in front of her.

“I do,” he said. “I want to kiss you so badly it hurts.”

She did not know whether to laugh or groan. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

She put her arms around his neck. “Okay, that may not have come out quite the way you intended, but I think I get the picture.”

“Good, because I don’t think I’ve got any more words. Not right now.”

He used both hands to take off her glasses. He set them aside on the counter and slowly, deliberately wrapped his arms around her. His mouth came down on hers in a searing kiss that electrified all of her senses.

She abandoned herself to the delicious rush of the embrace. Whatever was happening between them might not last forever, but it was very real at that moment and that was all that mattered.

His hands closed around her waist and then moved higher, stopping just beneath her breasts.

“I want you,” he said, his voice thickening. “I need to know you want me, too.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I want you, Cabot Sutter.”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight,” she agreed.

He lifted her off her feet, turned and started toward her bedroom. She gripped his shoulders, bracing herself.

“Just so you know,” she said, “I need to be on top.”

In the shadows his smile was very sexy and very, very male.

“That,” he said, “can be arranged.”

He got her into the bedroom and stood her on her feet beside the bed. She thought fleetingly of the bottle of antianxiety meds in the bathroom cabinet and then forgot about them. She wouldn’t need them tonight.

Very gently, Cabot peeled off her robe. Then he picked her up in his arms and dropped her lightly onto the tumbled sheets. She sat up immediately, crossed her legs and watched him strip off his trousers, briefs and T-shirt. His strong, sleek shoulders and back were silhouetted against the glow of the city lights.

When he turned slightly to climb into bed, she saw his fierce erection. Okay, he definitely wanted her, at least for tonight.

Automatically she ran a check on her senses, waiting for the rush of dark, disturbing energy to uncoil within her. But all she felt in that moment was a dizzying anticipation. This man understood her. He didn’t think she suffered from bad nerves. He didn’t think she was weird because she woke up in the middle of the night and ran through a series of self-defense exercises. He didn’t care about her past in a cult.

Before she could jinx the moment with any more internal dialogue, he was lowering himself beside her. She did have a brief moment of doubt then. He was the take-charge type and she could feel waves of desire emanating from him. If he didn’t understand that she was serious about being on top – if, in the heat of the moment, he tried to take control —

But Cabot made no attempt to cage her beneath him. He rolled onto his back and gathered her against his side, letting her choose the position that she wanted.

She levered herself up on one elbow, leaned over and kissed him. He cradled her head in one powerful hand and responded with a sensual hunger that thrilled her. He groaned with a mix of pleasure and need, but he did not lose control.

Emboldened by the fact that she was not showing any signs of flipping the panic switch, she flattened her palm on his bare chest, savoring the feel of his heated skin and the hard muscle underneath. Slowly she moved her lips from his mouth to his throat. Her fingers explored him. When she reached the thick, rigid length of him, she felt him tense. But he did not attempt to force her to hurry things along.

He moved his free hand slowly up her leg, slipping under the edge of the nightgown. He gripped her bare thigh. For the first time she felt a flicker of tension. Her hand stilled on his lower body.

He immediately released her thigh and let his fingers drift slowly over the curve of her hip and up to her waist.

“You feel so good,” he said, his voice very dark, almost smoldering. “Perfect.”

Definitely not perfect, she thought. Any other woman who found herself in bed with this man would be thrilled. And she was thrilled. But some part of her was also scared, waiting for the anxiety monster to leap out of the dark cave where it hid and destroy the moment.

Don’t think about it, she told herself. Focus.

But the more she tried not to think about it, the more she could not stop thinking about it.

Anger at her own inability to relax and enjoy the pleasure that Cabot was offering surged through her. Dismayed, she scrambled on top of him, straddling him in an effort to force her senses to ignite.