Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(29)

“I just…” He reached up and scrubbed the back of his neck with his hand, dropping her eyes for a second before leveling with her. “Listen, you have to be out by Tuesday, and you have rehearsals every single day between now and then. You would need to find a place tomorrow night, sign the lease, write checks, pack and move. Tomorrow. I just don’t—I don’t see how you can do that. I mean, I get why you were so worried. Your life is too crazy to add a housing issue to the pile right now. You seriously don’t have the time for this.”

He was making a lot of sense, but she still felt an old sense of propriety holding on to her, so she was silent, waiting for him to say more that would somehow make it okay with her conscience for her to consider his offer.

Preston took a deep breath, reaching for his wineglass and taking a long sip as he looked at her over the rim. He placed the glass back down on the end table and rubbed his jaw with his thumb and forefinger.

“Elise. You don’t have a place to live. But you have me. And I want to help you. I would love to have you stay here with me for a while.”

“For a while?” she asked.

She saw something pass over his eyes, but he blinked it away and nodded at her. “A little while. A long while. As long as you need.”

“Like, maybe just until Frome is up and running. Then I’ll have time to find a place of my own.”

“If that works for you, that’s fine with me.”

“So, it would just be temporary,” she said. “A week or so. We’re not moving in together.”

He shook his head. “Nope. Just a temporary solution to a big problem.”

“And you wouldn’t mind?”

“Mind…?”

“Having me on the couch?”

His eyes widened and he started to speak, then stopped himself. A hint of an ironic smile graced his lips, but he straightened out his mouth and he sighed.

“No girlfriend of mine is sleeping on my couch. You’ll take my bedroom. I’ll take the guestroom.”

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he insisted. “It’s just for a little while, remember?”

Her eyes flooded with tears from his goodness and kindness and the way he showed sensitivity for her outdated sensibilities. Her feelings for him were growing a million miles a minute, doubling and tripling and quadrupling and he was becoming like air or water to her…something that—very soon, if not right now—would make her feel like dying were she deprived of it, of him, of his steady, patient, loving presence in her once-so-lonely life.

There were no words to express the depth of her gratitude, the breadth of her relief. She reached for his face, pressing her palms to his stubbly skin as she leaned forward to drop her lips to his. He reacted immediately, his arms encircling her waist, sitting up and moving forward as he lowered her onto the couch and settled his body on top of hers. He kissed her longingly, his tongue breaking the seal of her lips, slipping between her teeth, exploring the hot, wet recesses of her mouth. Sliding his against hers, they tangled together, hot silk gliding against each other as a whimper of “more” escaped from the back of her throat.

She arched her body upward, into the hard, hot muscle of his chest, feeling his erection, thick and long, through his pants, sliding against her thigh and pelvis as he thrust lightly against her, still kissing her breath away. His hands skated up the sides of her body, bracketing her breasts, which knew little of a man’s touch, but her nipples beaded from the contact, pressing against his pecs and making her ache with desire.

The heels of his hands pressed into the sides of her breasts as their legs tangled together on the couch and his tongue continued stroking hers. She was liquid and desperate for more, moaning softly when he finally drew back, resting his elbows on either side of her chest and looking down at her with dark, wide eyes.

He was out of breath and each time he inhaled it was jerky and deliberate, his eyes searching her face as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You’re a virgin,” he said softly.

Heat flooded her cheeks and she clenched her jaw in embarrassment and surprise, staring back at him.

“Sweetheart,” he prompted. “We need to talk about it…just for a minute. We need to set some…some ground rules.”

“Okay,” she whispered, dropping his eyes. It was too humiliating, his body on top of hers, her breasts peaked and taut for something she’d never experienced before. “Yes, I’m a virgin.”

“Then this needs to be said before you come stay with me: You set the pace. You, Elise. All you. You say ‘stop,’ I stop. You say ‘slow down,’ we slow down. I follow your lead. Clear?”

She looked up at him, nodding. “Clear.”

His hardness pressed insistently against her thigh. She knew exactly how much he wanted her—it was obvious—but he was letting her be in charge, and it made something in her heart burst with happiness and joy with the sense that as long as Preston was beside her, she’d always be safe.

He was staring into her eyes, his lips tilted up into a small, sassy grin.

“So, Elise Klassan,” he said wickedly, “tell me what you want.”

“A little more,” she murmured, closing her eyes as she laced her fingers around his neck and pulled his lips back down to hers.