Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(36)
“I know. I just—”
She placed her finger over his lips and shook her head back and forth slowly to hush him.
“It’s pretend,” she said again, taking a step closer to him so that her breasts grazed the stark white cotton of his tuxedo shirt. “Do you want to know how I’m so certain that it’s only pretend?”
“Yes,” he said, his breath audible as she leaned into him.
“Because the only way for me to kiss him like I love him, is for me to imagine that he’s you.”
He flinched, the slightest movement of eyes narrowing before widening as he grasped the full intention of her meaning.
“What are you saying?” he rasped, holding his breath.
“That I’m falling in love with you, too,” she said, flattening her hands on his chest as his arms came around her like bands of iron.
“Really?”
She nodded, grinning at him, trying to be brave. “I’m afraid so.”
“Afraid?”
“I told you… that day in the meadow as I read Ethan Frome? Love scares me.”
“And I promised you that I wouldn’t fall in love with you. I’m sorry for breaking my promise. I couldn’t help it. You should have been less awesome.”
She laughed softly, staring up at him in the moonlight, at his dark eyes which focused on hers unceasingly.
“Are you still afraid?” he asked, taking a deep breath which made his pectoral muscles swell against her palms and reminded her of how her nipples had felt between his fingers last weekend.
She glanced down at her hands on his chest before looking back up at him. “A little.”
“Don’t be,” he said, his voice heartbreakingly earnest. “I won’t hurt you. Not ever.”
“I believe you,” she said, tilting her head back as she wound her arms around his neck, and pulling him down to kiss her.
Chapter 9
With a rush of breath, his lips were on hers, hard and demanding, taking what was his and offering what was hers in return. His hands slid up her back, cupping her head as he sucked her tongue into his mouth. As hers glided against his, he finally gentled, trusting the feeling of her in his arms, trusting her amazing words, trusting that even though she’d kissed a movie star tonight, she belonged to him.
He leaned back to look at her, at her sparkling blue eyes, which were dark as they met his gaze.
“Take me to your bed,” she whispered.
All of the air was sucked out of the room.
“My bed?”
“I’m not ready to…” she swallowed.
“I know,” he said, his body tightening with the thought of them together in his bed, regardless of what they were doing there. “We’ll go as slow as you want.”
“I just want to be with you,” she said, her fingers playing with the waves that curled on the back of his neck.
He nodded, taking her hand and leading her back through the apartment to his bedroom. Without turning on the lights, he dropped her hand to close the door, then turned to look at her. It only took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the low light of New York City which filtered into his dark room, and he stood with his back against the door, waiting for her to tell him what she wanted. In the meantime, he admired the view.
She was wearing the simple black cocktail dress she’d changed into after the play, and flattened her palms on her thighs nervously as she stepped out of her high heels and stood before him. He could make out the swell of her breasts, the sharp rise and fall of her chest in the moonlight.
Watching her, it occurred to him that it had probably taken a terrible amount of courage for her to invite him to join her here, to take this next step with him. Desperate to make things easier for her, he took two steps toward his bed, holding out his hand to her. After only a moment’s hesitation, she stepped forward and took it, leaning into him, letting him enfold her in his arms.
“We won’t do anything you don’t want to do,” he said softly near her ear, letting his lips graze the soft, hot skin with a feather touch. “You have my word.”
He pushed her hair off of her shoulder and dropped his lips to the bare skin there, sliding one hand from her lower back to the top of her zipper, then pausing for a moment, waiting for a sign that she wanted him to undress her. She tilted her neck to the side, to give him better access to her throat, and he dropped his lips to her pounding pulse as he pulled the zipper down, the soft hissing noise making his blood flood south where an eager part of him stiffened in anticipation.
They wouldn’t be having sex tonight. Even if she offered it, he would gently—and dolefully—refuse, because he didn’t want her to give away her virginity impulsively and regret it later. He wanted her to be sure, even if it meant depriving himself for a little longer.
Sliding his lips over the skin of her throat, he pushed the dress over her shoulders and down her arms, listening for the elusive whisper of fabric pooling around her feet. When he heard it, he raised his head to look at her, cutting his eyes to hers, and holding them as he found her fingers by her sides and lifted them to the lapels of his suit jacket. Understanding what he wanted, she pushed the jacket from his shoulders and it slipped down his arms to join her dress on the floor.
Answering the question in her eyes, he looked purposely down at his shirt, reaching for her hands again and placing her trembling fingers on the first button, which she unbuttoned carefully.