Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(23)

“Wait.” Porter hopped up from the couch and ran in front of me, closing the door. He turned, forcing me against the wall of the hallway. Then he placed his hands on the wall on either side of me, and stood much too close to me.

My heart thumped inside my chest and sweat formed on the back of my neck. He was trapping me. How could I have been so stupid? Why did I come here? What did I expect to happen?

Silly girl.

Foolish girl.

Stupid girl.

Porter tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he asked, “Why are you really here?”

“I-I already t-told you.” I clenched my eyes tightly, scolding myself for stumbling on my words.

“No, that’s not why. Tell me the truth.” He leaned in closer, whispering into my ear, “It’s okay, you can say it.”

Slowly, he inched closer. I felt like his prey as he backed me into the wall, one arm above each of my shoulders. With my back pressed against the wall and his breath on the sensitive skin of my neck, my anxiety ramped up and the area between my legs began to throb.

“Say what?” I whispered, finally allowing my gaze to meet his. His eyes had darkened, become intense, and focused on me as if everything else in the world had ceased to exist. No one had ever looked at me like that.

He sees me.

Really sees me.

What on earth have I gotten myself into?

“You’ve been thinking about me, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice low. He lifted one hand from the wall and tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

I shook my head.

“You’re lying,” he insisted. “I know it.”

Again, I shook my head from side to side, closing my eyes tightly, resisting the urge to place my lips on his, just like I had in my dreams.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said softly. “I don’t want to, but I can’t stop. Ever since you came here that day, I can’t get you out of my f*cking head.”

I flinched. That awful word made my shoulders tense. But my heart fluttered at the idea of Porter thinking of me, wanting me, dreaming of me like I dreamed of him. I said nothing, but met his stare with my own.

“Tell me something,” he whispered when I didn’t respond to his confession. “Do you love him?”

Again, this wholly inappropriate question. Only this time, I wanted to answer. I wanted to scream it through the apartment. I wanted him to know that Lehi Cluff could never own my heart.

When I didn’t answer, he moved in closer, so close I could feel the thumping of his heart against mine. I shook my head in answer to his question, and he sighed.

“I see.” He nuzzled the hot skin of my neck with his nose, before he pulled back to look into my eyes. “Tell me something else.”

I glanced away quickly, afraid to look back into his icy eyes.

“Does he make you come?”

I wanted to pretend that I knew what he meant. But I didn’t. I had no idea. I glanced up, searching his eyes for an explanation.

“C-come where?” I asked finally.

He chuckled again under his breath. “Come,” he said again as he ran his finger down the side of my neck, then skimmed it along the neckline of my dress.

“It’s not a place, it’s a feeling,” he explained. “A feeling so intense you come apart.”

Porter continued to drag his fingers gently across the delicate skin at the base of my neck. I held my breath, but the rise and fall of my chest didn’t stop.

“It’s what happens when a man knows how to touch a woman the right way. Make her feel things no one else can. Make her respond with the lightest touch, in just the right place.”

His face was inches from mine. I could taste his breath. Feel the heat.

“Oh.” I swallowed hard. My throat was dry, my breath harsh. He was talking about orgasms. Rebecca had explained them to me, about losing herself in Burt. I’d never lost myself, but something told me I could easily lose myself in Porter. Part of me was already lost in him, in his smoky voice, in the heat of his breath on my ear, in the tip of his finger against the fabric of my dress.

“I’d make you come . . . so hard.” His voice was rough as his finger continued to dip down beneath the cotton.

The pulsing in my private area increased, so much that I had to press my thighs together to numb the sensation. He glanced down at my crossed feet and smiled.

“Come on, Brin. Admit it,” he insisted softly. “You think about me, just as I think about you. I know you do.”

Involuntarily, as if somehow detached from the reasonable side of my brain, my head nodded up and down. Slowly. So slowly.

“And that’s why you came here . . .”

I nodded again, swallowing hard.

“But you’re afraid. Afraid they’ll catch you.”

Again, I nodded, a barely perceptible movement.

He removed his finger from my neckline, smoothed my hair, and peered into my eyes with a gentleness he hadn’t shown me since he grasped my wrist a month ago.

“I want to see you again.” His blue eyes blinked rapidly as we stood in silence. Both of us waiting for me to summon a response.

My lips responded, turning up into a soft smile. Porter smiled in return. Something inside me shifted, and a boldness crept forward as my hand reached to grasp his. He released the wall and squeezed my fingers, sighing loudly.