by Sarah Morgan
‘Anything that happens between us,’ he said, his tone turning almost severe, ‘happens at a pace I control.’
She stilled for just a second, then gave him a small smile. ‘Yes, boss.’
‘And if I think it isn’t...it isn’t working, then we stop. I stop. Got that?’
‘Got it.’
Hell. He hadn’t exactly set the mood, had he? Yet he wanted her to know he wasn’t going to rush things, take advantage. In this crucial moment, he wanted her to trust him. He wanted to trust himself.
He swallowed, felt her gaze, wide-eyed and expectant, on him. He could not think of a single thing to say.
A tiny smile hovered around Aurelie’s mouth and her eyes lightened with mischief. ‘So what now?’
‘Hell if I know.’
And then she laughed, a joyous bubble of sound, and he laughed too, and he felt them both relax. Maybe it would be okay after all. Maybe it would even be wonderful.
He stood up, held his hand out to her. She took it instantly, instinctively, trusting him already. ‘Come on.’
He led her to the bedroom in the back of the suite, two walls of windows overlooking the inky surface of Marina Bay. Aurelie only had eyes for the bed. It was big, wide and piled with pillows in different shades of blue silk. She turned to him and licked her lips, a question in her eyes.
‘Let’s just relax.’ He kicked off his shoes, took off his tie and stretched out on the bed. Aurelie sat on its edge and took off her boots. Gingerly she scooted up next to him, lay her head back on the pillows. Luke laughed softly. ‘You look like you’re on an examining table.’
‘I feel a bit like that too.’
‘We’re not rushing this, you know.’
‘I almost wish you would.’
‘Oh?’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘You think you’d enjoy that?’
Now she laughed, the soft sound trembling on the air. ‘Probably not.’
Gently he traced the winged arches of her eyebrows, the curve of her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed and he let himself explore the graceful contours of her face with his fingertips: the straight line of her nose, the fullness of her lips. ‘Tell me,’ he asked after a moment, ‘what your favourite room is in your house in Vermont.’
‘What?’ Her eyes opened and she stared at him in surprise. Luke smiled and gently closed them again with his fingertips.
‘Your favourite room,’ he repeated and continued to stroke her face with whisper-light touches. He felt her relax, just a little.
‘The kitchen, I suppose. I always remember my grandmother there.’
‘She liked to bake?’
‘Yes—’
‘And you helped her that summer?’
Her eyes opened again, clear with astonishment. ‘Yes—’ Gently he nudged them closed once more. She relaxed back into the pillows again. ‘I always liked helping her with things,’ she said after a moment. ‘I suppose because she always liked me to help.’
‘You must miss her,’ Luke said quietly, and she gave a little nod.
‘You must miss your mother,’ she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper, and for a second his fingers stilled on her face. He hadn’t expected her to say that. She opened her eyes, gave him a small smile. ‘This honesty thing? You told me it went both ways.’
‘Yes.’ But he really didn’t want to talk about his mother.
‘Do you miss her?’
‘Yes.’ He swallowed, felt his throat thicken. ‘Every day.’ Gently he traced the outline of her parted lips with his fingers and then slowly, deliberately, dropped his finger to her chin. Rested it there for a moment. ‘You know, the first time I met you I knew the truth of you from your chin.’
‘My chin?’
‘It quivers when you’re upset.’
She laughed softly. ‘No one’s ever told me that before.’
‘Maybe no one’s ever noticed.’ He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the point of her chin. He felt her still, hold her breath. Wait. He lifted his head and smiled. ‘I like it.’
‘I’m glad.’
He touched her chin once more with his fingertip, and then trailed it slowly down the curve of her neck, rested it in the sweet little hollow of her throat. Stroked. He heard her breath hitch and she shifted on the bed. Luke felt the impatient stirring of his own desire. He’d told her they’d go slowly, and he meant it. Even if it was a rather painful process for him. ‘Your skin is so soft. I thought that the first time I met you too.’
‘You didn’t.’
‘I did. I was attracted to you from the moment you opened your eyes. Why do you think I was so ticked off?’
She let out a shuddery little laugh as he continued to stroke that little hollow. ‘Because I was passed out and running late, I thought.’
‘That was just my cover.’ He let his finger trace a gentle line from the hollow of her throat down to the vee between her breasts. And he rested it there, the sides of her breasts softly brushing his finger, and waited.
Her cheeks were faintly flushed now, and her eyes had fluttered closed. He heard her breath rise and fall with a slight shudder and he felt a deep surge of satisfaction. She wanted this. She wanted him. He trailed his finger back up to that hollow, and she opened her eyes.
‘This is going to take forever.’
He laughed softly. ‘Not forever, I hope. That would kill me.’ He let his finger trail back down, brushed the soft sides of her breasts this time, and felt her shiver. ‘But long enough.’ He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat and then he slid his palm down to cup the soft fullness of her breast. She tensed for a second and then relaxed into the caress with a soft sigh.
Luke felt a powerful surge of protectiveness. He wanted to do this right. But it was killing him to go so slowly, to take the time he knew she needed. He flicked his thumb over the peak of her nipple and heard her indrawn breath, then another sigh. He smiled and moved his hand lower, onto the taut muscles of her tummy.
She opened her eyes, gazed up at him. ‘You’re being incredibly patient.’
‘It’s worth it.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘I know.’ He slid his hand lower, down to her bare knee, and rested it there. Watched her eyes widen in expectation, maybe alarm. He stroked the back of her knee, down to the slender bones of her ankle, and then back up again. A little further up, so his fingers brushed the tender, silky skin of her inner thigh and then down again to the safety of that knee.
She let out a little laugh. ‘You’re torturing me.’
‘Am I?’ With his other hand he touched her cheek, the fullness of her lower lip, her chin, the hollow of her throat. Saw her eyes go hazy and dark with desire. She reached her hands up and tangled them in his hair, drew him closer.
‘Kiss me,’ she commanded, her voice husky, and Luke obliged.
He brushed his lips across her once, twice, and then went deep, tasting her as she tasted him. His hand tightened instinctively on her knee, slid upwards. She parted her legs and he felt her hands go to the buttons of his shirt.
‘Too many clothes,’ she mumbled against his mouth, and in a couple of quick shrugs—and a few buttons popping—he was free of his shirt, the garment tossed to the floor.
‘How about your dress?’
She swallowed, nodded, and he slid the skinny straps from her shoulders. One quick, sinuous tug on the zip on the back and she shimmied out of the dress, kicking it away from her ankles.
Luke gazed at her. He’d seen her in her underwear before, of course, but he still loved to look at her. He let his gaze travel back up to her face, those wide, stormy eyes. ‘Okay?’ he asked quietly, and she nodded.
Still he waited. She nodded towards his trousers. ‘Maybe you should deal with those.’
‘Ma
ybe you should.’
She arched her eyebrows, then smiled and nodded. Luke bit down on a groan as her fingers brushed his arousal. She fumbled a bit with the belt and zip, which made it all the more of an exquisite torture. Then she slid his trousers off his hips, and he kicked them the rest of the way. All they were wearing was their underwear, and it felt like way too much clothing to him. He smoothed his hand from her shoulder to her hip, revelling in the feel of her satiny skin. She shivered under his touch and he moved his hand upwards again, cupped her breast and smiled as she arched into his hand.
He kissed her again, deeply, and felt her respond, her arms coming around him, one leg twining with his. He moved his hand lower, across her tummy to the juncture of her thighs. Waited there, feeling her warmth, until she parted her legs and he slipped his fingers inside her underwear, felt her tense and then will herself to relax, arching her hips upwards as his fingers explored and teased her.
He felt his control slipping a notch as her own hand skimmed his erection and their tongues tangled, heard her breathing hitch—or was it his? He was so, so ready for this, and she felt ready—
He pressed another kiss to her throat, willed his heart to stop racing. ‘Okay?’ he muttered against her neck, and felt her nod. He slid her underwear off, kicked off his own boxer shorts. And then he was poised between her thighs, aching with need for her, their bodies pressed slickly together, all of him anticipating and straining towards this—
He looked down and saw she’d gone still, actually rigid, with her eyes scrunched tightly shut.
Damn.
It took all, absolutely all of Luke’s self-control to stop. He took a deep, shuddering breath and rolled off her onto his back. Stared at the ceiling and felt his heart wrench inside him when he heard Aurelie let out a tiny hiccup of a sob. What had gone wrong? And how had he let this happen—again?
‘I’m sorry,’ she finally whispered into the silence.
‘No. Don’t be.’ He was still staring at the ceiling, still feeling that scalding rush of shame and guilt. He was also feeling incredibly, painfully aroused. ‘Let me just take a shower,’ he muttered and, rolling off the bed, he headed towards the bathroom.
* * *
Aurelie lay on the bed and listened to Luke turn on the shower. She blinked hard and tried not to cry. What had gone wrong?
She honestly didn’t know. One second she’d been lost in Luke’s little touches, aching for his deeper caress—and the next? She’d felt the heavy weight on top of her and his breath in her ear and suddenly, painfully been reminded of the first time with Pete.
Let me...
She blinked hard again, forced the memories back. She did not want to think of them now, to bring them into this moment, this bed.
Drawing a deep breath, she reached for her scattered clothes. She didn’t even remember Luke unclasping her bra, but he must have done. It was lying on the floor. She dressed quickly, furtively, afraid Luke would come out of the bathroom—and then what? Was he angry? Frustrated, no doubt, in more ways than one. And knowing Luke—which she did now, she realised—he’d want answers. Answers she didn’t want to give, because she knew they wouldn’t reflect well on herself.
Sighing, she sat back down on the bed and waited.
A few minutes later Luke emerged from the bathroom, a towel around his hips. Aurelie swallowed dryly at the sight of his chest, broad, browned and shimmering with droplets of water. Just a few minutes ago she’d had the power to touch it at her leisure, had felt that hard, muscular body pressed against hers. Just the memory caused a pulse of desire low in her belly. How had it all gone wrong? Could memories really have that much power?
Luke reached for a T-shirt and dropped his towel, oblivious to his own nakedness. Aurelie was not. She swallowed again, felt her heart start to thud. He slipped on a pair of boxers and then sat on the edge of the bed. She tensed, waited.
He smiled wryly, his eyes dark, his hair damp and spiky. She wanted to comb it with her fingers, to feel its damp softness. She folded her hands together in her lap.
‘I guess you realise we need to talk.’ She nodded, and Luke sighed. ‘I’m sorry for the way things happened.’
‘Don’t be.’ It hurt to squeeze those two words out, for her throat had got absurdly tight. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘It’s not yours, either.’ She didn’t answer, and Luke reached over and placed his hand over her tightly clasped ones, his thumb stroking her fingers. ‘Tell me what happened to you, Aurelie.’
‘Nothing happened.’ She shook her head, impatient with the way he was making her a victim. She’d never wanted pity. She’d made all her choices willingly. She had.
‘Why, then,’ Luke asked evenly, ‘did you freeze up at a rather crucial point? Everything was going well, wasn’t it?’
She let out a little choked sound, half-laugh, half-sob. ‘Very well.’
‘And then?’
‘I don’t know. I just—’ She moistened her lips, forced herself to continue. ‘I just froze up, like you said. To be honest, you’re the only one who’s ever noticed.’
‘Then you haven’t had very considerate lovers.’
‘No.’
Luke sighed and squeezed her hand. ‘I appreciate that I may not have earned enough of your trust to tell me what happened to you, because something did. Some experience has made you fear sex and, until I know what it is, I can’t help you. And,’ he added, a wry note entering his voice, ‘I can’t make love to you, which is a shame.’
Aurelie lifted her gaze to his. ‘We could try again—’
‘No.’ Luke spoke with such flat finality that she recoiled. ‘I don’t think you realise,’ he added more quietly, ‘how it makes me feel to see you beneath me, looking like you’re bracing yourself for some kind of torture.’
She blinked, felt the hot wetness of tears behind her lids. She hadn’t thought of that. She’d only thought of herself, and how disappointing she must be to him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
‘I don’t want your apologies. I just want your honesty. But I can wait.’
She sniffed. Loudly. ‘So what now?’
‘How about we go to sleep?’
Hope stirred inside her, a tiny, fragile bud emerging amidst the mire of desolation. ‘Here? Together?’
‘That’s the idea.’ And then, gently, perhaps even lovingly, he pulled her into his arms so her cheek rested against that wonderfully hard chest. She felt the reassuring thud of his heart and closed her eyes. ‘I’m a patient man, Aurelie.’
She smiled against his chest, even though the tears still felt all too close. ‘That’s good to know.’
Yet as she snuggled against him beneath the covers, his arms securely around her, she wondered if she was the impatient one. She’d changed and grown so much over the last few days, but she wanted more. She wanted to be different in every way, and especially in this one. Yet with this—this crucial intimacy—she didn’t know how to change, or even if she could.
CHAPTER TEN
MORNING sunlight spilled across the bed, created pools of warmth amidst the nest of covers. Aurelie rose on one elbow and stared down at the sleeping form of the man she loved.
Yes, loved. She’d been skirting around that obvious truth for days now, because it was too scary and even impossible to grasp. How could she love a man she’d known for such a short time? And why would she, when she knew what happened when you gave your heart away? You lost not just the heart you’d freely given, but your soul as well. Your very self.
She knew Luke was different. She knew it bone-deep, soul-deep, and yet that knowledge didn’t stay the tattoo of fear beating through her blood. The memory of how absolutely wrecked she’d been when Pete had finally ended it, and how she’d realised she had nothing, was nothing but a shell, remained with her. Infected he
r with doubt.
She didn’t doubt that Luke was different; she feared that she wasn’t. Even now a sly, insidious voice mocked that she hadn’t changed at all, not in the way that mattered most. She’d give herself to him, body and heart and soul, and he would take it and use it and there would be nothing left. She’d be nothing.
And yet, despite that consuming fear, she still felt that baby’s breath of hope, and Luke’s steady presence, his arms cradling her all night long, had fanned it into something strong and good.
She wanted to take a chance again. With Luke, and with herself.
He opened his eyes.
‘Good morning.’ His voice was low and husky, and its warmth flooded through her. She smiled.
‘Good morning.’
He shifted so she was cradled once more by his arm, and she rested her head on his shoulder, breathed in the warm, woodsy scent of him. Idly he ran a few strands of hair through his fingers. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Better than I can ever remember.’
He pulled her just a little bit closer, that primal part of him clearly satisfied. ‘Good.’
Aurelie took a breath. And another, because this was hard. So hard, and as she took another breath she knew she was already starting to hyperventilate. She let it out slowly, a long, breathy sigh, and Luke’s hand stilled on her hair. He was waiting.
‘I want to tell you some things,’ she began, and deliberately he began stroking her hair again, his fingers sifting through the strands.
‘Okay.’
‘I think I’m ready to...to do that.’ He didn’t answer, just kept stroking, and Aurelie closed her eyes. ‘Not that it’s that big a story. I mean, if you’re expecting me to tell you something horrible to explain...well, to explain my behaviour, it wasn’t like that.’
‘You don’t need to make any judgements, Aurelie. I won’t.’
She felt her eyes scrunch shut, as if she could block out the truth she was about to tell. ‘You might.’
‘No.’
‘I told you I haven’t been a Girl Scout. Some of those tabloid stories—a lot of them—are true.’ She spoke almost defiantly now, daring him to be shocked. Disgusted.