“For another,” he said, reaching toward her, “your hand is too high.”
He circled her wrist with his fingers. Taking her hand from where her fingers splayed in the vicinity of her navel, he slid it down.
“The baby is nestled right about here.”
Greg’s body dwarfed hers. His big hand engulfed her wrist, holding her hand low on her belly. Had she been prepared for what he was going to do, the intimacy of their positions might not have been so disturbing. But she hadn’t been prepared. Any more than she was prepared for the heat that seemed to move from his hand through her palm as she murmured a quiet, “Oh.”
Beneath his fingers, Greg felt her pulse skip.
His own jerked a few times, too, in the moments before he slowly, deliberately released her wrist.
Their ease with each other seemed harder and harder to find. And touching her only strained what little they had left. Had he been thinking, he wouldn’t have touched her at all. He would have just motioned to where her child grew and ignored the way his fingers itched to smooth the little furrows from her brow, to sink into the silk of her hair.
He couldn’t believe how quickly she could affect him. He’d done nothing more than take her wrist and catch the scent of the shampoo that drifted into his bedroom every morning, and he was aware of little beyond her and the slow burning heat settling in his groin.
“You worry too much,” he told her, taking a step back.
She shrugged, tried a smile. “I’m afraid it’s become a habit.”
“Well, work on breaking it, would you? One of the reasons you’re here is so you don’t have to do that.”
His frustration with himself must have put more of an edge in his voice than he’d realized. With the single blink of her dark lashes, the smile died and uncertainty clouded her expression.
Taking a step back herself, she quickly turned to the counter. “I’ll have dinner ready in a few minutes.”
In the suddenly silent room, the click of the pot she picked up from the counter practically echoed when she set it in the sink to fill.
Swearing at himself, he reached toward her, only to pull right back. Touching her again would only taunt him more and he’d taken enough cold showers as it was. There hadn’t been a night since she’d been in his house that he hadn’t lain awake in his bed wondering if she was awake in hers.
Beneath the cables on her sweater, he saw her shoulders rise as she drew a deep breath. She was trying to regroup, mask whatever it was he’d just caused her to feel.
Swearing again, he reached for her, anyway.
“Hey,” he murmured, turning her around. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s normal for you to be concerned.”
She aimed a forgiving smile at his chest. “I’m being overly sensitive. Blame it on hormones.”
No problem, he thought. That was certainly what he blamed for his reactions to her. “Yeah, well, I’m a guy. We’re known for not being sensitive enough.”
The sensation of silken warmth whispered along his nerves. Her sweater dipped at the neck in short vee, just deeply enough to expose the delicate line of her collarbone. He hadn’t been aware of his thumb brushing her skin until he’d felt its texture. Apparently even his subconscious felt that need to touch.
“Is there anything else you’re worried about?”
Her glance stayed on the middle of his chest as she murmured. “No.”
Hooking her chin with his crooked finger, he tipped up her head. “Look me in the eye and say that.”
She couldn’t look him in the eye and lie. He apparently knew that. But looking at him just then didn’t feel safe. He saw too much. He always had. With him standing so close, with him touching her as if he couldn’t stand not to, she was afraid he’d see far more than she wanted him to know.
It was one thing to want him to hold her. It was another entirely for him to know she did.
“Did you make an appointment with the obstetrician yet?”
“I go in three weeks. Right after the harvest festival.”
“Would you feel better if you went sooner?”
Still focused on the buttons on his shirt, she shook her head. “I told the nurse how far along I was and what kind of prenatal vitamins I was taking. Since I’m not even three months, she said there’s no hurry to come in.”
“So what’s wrong, then?”
“Why does something have to be wrong?”
“Because I know you,” he coaxed, his voice as gentle as his touch when he retraced the path of his thumb over her collarbone. “We know each other’s secrets, remember? Maybe I can help.”
That elusive sense of being protected was there again. The caring and concern that stopped just short of offering her the respite she had felt before in his arms.
She turned her head away, refusing to let him see what she wanted when he held back so much himself. She hated that she felt so needy when he seemed to need nothing at all.
For days, she had waited for him to either give her the estate papers or tell her why he’d changed his mind about trusting her with them. She hadn’t wanted to bring it up for fear he would withdraw from her.
She hated that, too.
Slipping from his hands, she turned to the cabinet where he kept plates.
As frustration collided with the need to protect herself, she turned right back to face him.
“The day you offered me the job at the clinic,” she said, her tone far calmer than she felt, “you said you were doing it because I’d helped you with your arm. You said you don’t like owing people,” she reminded him, “so that made us even. But from that point on, it’s only been you helping me. And you won’t even give me a chance to repay you.”
Absolute incomprehension lowered his brow. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the way you won’t let me do anything for you. You’ve given me a decent roof, a decent bed, the protection of your name and a way to support my child. All you accept from me is dinner. Lorna does the major cleaning on this house. She does your laundry. You’re so insanely neat about everything that you don’t even leave anything for me to pick up after you.”
“It bothers you that I’m neat?”
For an intelligent man he had totally missed the point. “It bothers me,” she clarified, bracing herself, “that you won’t let me keep my end of our agreement.”
“How am I not doing that?”
“You’re not letting me help.”
“But there’s nothing I need help with,” he tried to explain, only to remember what he’d asked of her the night he’d more or less proposed.
Greg felt his incomprehension slide into oblivion. She was talking about the estate. What he didn’t understand now was why she’d let herself stew about for so long.
“Why didn’t you just ask me about it?” he inquired.
Her arms snaked around her waist. “Because I don’t want you to think I’m pushing like Elizabeth did and Larry is doing now. And I’m not,” she explained. “If you’ve changed your mind about trusting me with it, that’s fine. But at least let me do something to repay you.”
“It has nothing to do with not trusting you, Jenny.”
She stood with her arms crossed, looking as if she were protecting herself somehow. The thought that she felt she needed to protect herself from him barely registered before he saw her arms relax.
“Then let me pay rent.”
“I told you to use your money to pay your lawyer.”
“See what I mean?” Her arms flew out to her sides, the gesture a blend of helplessness and pure frustration. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t like feeling obligated, Greg.”
“I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
“Well, I do.”
Well stop, he wanted to insist.
He cupped the side of her neck with his hand, eased his thumb over the pulse beating at its base. “I know none of this is easy for you. But it doesn’t have to be so hard,
either. For what it’s worth,” he confided, “I wanted you here because I worried about you living out there in that house. If you’re looking for trade-offs, you’ve already paid me back in the sleep I haven’t lost since you moved in.”
Incredulity touched her expression. “You lost sleep over me?”
You have no idea how much, he thought.
“Some,” he conceded.
Jenny had no idea what he saw in her eyes at his quiet admission. Something shifted through his, though. Something that left them dark and inscrutable.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured.
“Like what?”
His jaw seemed to tighten. Like you wouldn’t stop me if I kissed you.
The thought jerked hard at his self control. He couldn’t be anywhere near her without wanting her. Touching her made denying that impossible.
His glance moved over her face, drifted to her mouth.
Behind Jenny, the faucet dripped into the sink. From across the room came the steady hum of the refrigerator. All she really noticed was the man holding her frozen with nothing more than the touch of his hand. Greg’s features seemed to tighten as his eyes roamed her face. She didn’t know if he was questioning her or himself, but there was no denying that struggle was there as he traced the line of her jaw with his knuckles.
She felt his fingers slip past her ear, slide up into her hair. As if drawn by its texture, or his own memories, he let the pad of his thumb caress the corner of her mouth.
He felt her breath tremble against his hand.
She wouldn’t stop him. The stark realization overrode resolve, dissolving it completely as he cupped the back of her head and slowly lowered his own. He’d meant to keep his hands to himself. And he would. Soon. All he wanted was to know the taste of her. He’d been denied that before in the brief kisses they’d shared. One kiss and he would let her go.
Jenny’s breath stalled as his mouth settled over hers. The feel of his lips was unbearably gentle as he eased her toward his big body—and the possibility of being held once more.
Aching for what was suddenly so close, she flattened her hands against his chest, slowly fisted his shirt in her fingers. At that small capitulation, his tongue touched hers and he slowly began to rob the strength from her knees. That deliberate, sensual invasion had her sucking in air, clutching his shirt more tightly to keep from sinking to her knees.
She didn’t know if she sagged against him or if he drew her closer. She knew only that his arms were suddenly around her and that she was finally, exactly where she’d yearned to be. He was holding her, kissing her, and she could almost feel the awful insecurities plaguing her life loosen their grip.
She knew that didn’t make a lot of sense considering he was one of the reasons those insecurities were there. But she wasn’t feeling particularly logical just then. All she cared about was that he cared for her, that he trusted her. And all she wanted was to sink into his strength and obliterate the void inside her.
Greedy with that need, she lifted her arms, curved them around his neck. As she did, he angled her head to take her deeper, dragging a moan from her throat at his blatant invasion of her senses. He drew another whimper from her when his hand slid down her back to press her against the daunting bulge behind his zipper.
Wildfire.
Greg felt it rip through his veins, sear a path along the nerves at the base of his spine. With her slender body seeking his, her little moans of need nearly undid him. She tasted like warm honey, felt like pure heaven, and letting her go was the farthest thing from his mind.
He drew her up, molded her shape to his. He’d thought before how fragile she felt. She still did. Yet there was a strength in her supple muscles that turned fragility to pure feminine power. If she were to set her mind to it, she could have him begging at her feet.
He already felt precariously close to doing just that when a hint of sanity slithered through the red haze of heat threatening his control. Needing to slow down, needing more logic and less temptation, he edged her far enough away to break contact with her body.
His heart felt as if it could beat right through his chest when he tipped her head up see her face. Her mouth was shiny with his moisture, her cheeks flushed.
It was the look in her eyes that ruined his attempt to be noble.
She seemed to know he was about to let her go. Beneath the desire, she looked lost.
“Hey, honey,” he murmured. “What is it?”
“Don’t you ever need anything?” she asked, her thready tone almost accusing.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you ever need…closeness?”
He’d never considered the question before. But if she was talking about the basic need to touch and be touched, the answer was easy. “Of course I do.”
“Then why did you stop?”
The plea in her quiet question twisted at something deep inside him. “Because I have to.” Knowing that tore at him as he brushed her cheeks with his thumbs. Her skin felt like satin beneath his touch. She would feel like that everywhere. “If I don’t, this won’t end here.”
At his blunt admission, she lowered her head.
“What is it you need, Jenny?”
Her fingers settled over his pounding heart. “For you not to stop.”
He caught her face between his hands, made her look into his eyes. The fire had barely begun to subside. Seeing the naked need in her expression, it nearly flashed out of control.
Greg bit back a groan as he took her mouth once more. Had she given any indication at all that she wanted him to slow down, he would have ignored the razor-sharp desire clawing at him and managed somehow to walk away. But she seemed to crave his touch as much as he did hers. That knowledge sharpened the edge and turned thoughts of nobility to steam.
He suspected that what she wanted had more to do with seeking comfort than with physical desire. But the line between raw need and getting lost in the heat seemed too fine to differentiate just then. He wasn’t sure which one of them felt the greater hunger as he slipped his hands under her sweater and drank in her sigh at the feel of them on her bare skin. Beneath his hands he felt her shiver. Or maybe that tremor was his. He wasn’t totally sure as his tongue tangled with hers and he sought the fullness of her breast.
Jenny’s knees nearly buckled at the feel of his palm covering her. She’d thought that all she wanted was his arms around her. She was wrong. She needed the sweet oblivion he created as his hands memorized her shape, toyed and teased. He urged her closer, carrying his touch over her back and down, molding her to the hard lines of his body. With his mouth moving over hers, she felt parts of her going tense, others growing soft. Low in her belly her insides turned liquid at the feel of his hardness seeking her through layers of cotton and denim.
There was something terribly freeing about knowing he wanted her. Something that made it far easier than it should have been to finally acknowledge what she’d suspected all along.
She was falling in love with him. Probably already had.
The thought shimmered through her consciousness as he turned her toward the hallway, backing her down it and through his office, the shortest route to the stairs. He let her go only long enough to take her hand and lead her up the stairs before turning her in his arms again and backing her toward his bed.
Her knees hit the edge of the mattress. In the light from the hallway, he stopped there with her and tucked his hands under her sweater again.
He asked her to raise her arms, and the sweater hit the floor.
Lifting her hand to his chest, he murmured, “Your turn.”
Her fingers trembled as she worked her way down the buttons on his shirt. When she reached the buckle of his belt, he took over for her, unfastening it so she could tug his shirttails from his pants. Compelled by the need to touch, she slipped his shirt over his shoulders. It had barely reached the floor when she skimmed the tips of her fingers over his chest.
Rememberin
g the pain he’d been in the night they’d met, she traced over those sculpted muscles and along the hard line of his collarbone. The bruising she’d seen for weeks above the collars of his shirts had finally faded.
“Does it hurt anymore?” she asked.
His carved features were beautifully taut as he shook his head. “It hasn’t for a while.”
She kissed his shoulder, anyway, and the spots where she’d once seen the bruising start.
Something feral slipped into his expression when she raised her head. But the diamond brightness of his eyes barely registered before his mouth claimed hers. A ragged heartbeat later, his hands were at the clasp of her bra, and filmy lace joined the growing pile of clothes.
For long moments he held her at the side of the bed, gently stroking her tender breasts, making her weak with need, before turning her sideways so he could throw back the comforter. Easing her onto the cool sheets, he followed her down to trail a path of heat from one beaded nipple to the other. Her flesh there already felt fuller, heavy and terribly sensitive, but his gentle ministrations seemed to soothe even as he coaxed sensations from her that she’d never known existed.
Stretched beneath him, she felt his fingers drift down to work at the snap of her jeans. Kissing his way to her belly, he stripped denim and pink lace down her legs, then went to work ridding himself of the last barriers between them.
Greg’s glance swept her beautiful body. Having wanted her for so long, impatience battled the need to savor. Impatience had the edge. He was ready to die from wanting, and the feel of her soft hands roaming his shoulders, urging him over her was almost more than he could bear. He could feel the enticing shivers in her body as he suckled her, could hear the little moan she made when he slipped his hand to the downy thatch between her legs to caress her there.
He wanted nothing more than to slip inside her and bury himself in her heat. But the small part of his brain that still functioned above animal instinct reminded him of the need for protection. A surge of resentment for that need swept through him. He didn’t want it with her. He wanted nothing between them.
The thought had no sooner occurred than he realized the need for protection wasn’t there. A sense of possession swept through him, unfamiliar and demanding. Tucking his hand beneath her hip, aligning her to him, he bit back the urge to drive himself deep.
Trading Secrets Page 22
