by Jaycee Clark
Christian took another deep breath. Was she ready? Only one way to find out. She hadn’t lied to Brayden. When she was with him, things were just them. “Do you know,” she said, “I’ve never seen your room.”
She stopped, pulled her hand back, and walked toward his door. Was this foolish? It didn’t feel like it, but she was scared. And she didn’t want to be scared.
She wanted her life back.
Turning, she looked at him. Brayden stood staring at her, his tux jacket caught behind his wrists, his hands shoved in his pockets and the most confused expression she’d ever seen on his face.
Still he didn’t move.
Christian sighed and walked back to him. Maybe she should just let the dress fall. But then another thought slammed into her. What if Brayden didn’t want . . . What if when he looked at her . . .
Stop it.
She stood in front of him, looked into his eyes, and wrapped her arms around his neck. A breath away, she murmured, “After the hotel, I would lay awake at night cursing you because I remembered how wonderful it was between us, how precious, how special. I want happy memories again, Brayden. I want to go to sleep tonight and know you’re the last man to touch me.” Then, she kissed him. Poured all the love, heartache, and hope she could into that one kiss.
He tried to pull back. “This isn’t . . . Might not be . . . I don’t know . . . You’ve had a lot of champagne tonight.”
“I’m not drunk if that’s what you’re worried about. You are so stuck on this drunk thing, Brayden. You need to work on that,” she told him, grabbing his head and kissing him again.
Their tongues danced and melded, sighs mingled breaths, and their bodies fit, moved, and asked for more.
Brayden jerked back. “Christian, don’t.”
He held her at arms’ length and she could see the uncertainty in his eyes.
She cupped his face, not caring what he saw in her eyes. “I want you, Brayden. I have for a long time. When I moved out, before I moved out, I would wake up thinking you were beside me, feeling your hands on me.” She dropped her gaze to his lips. “Remembering what you tasted like, what it felt like to be with you. It was wonderful and beautiful.”
One quiet moment stretched, then he whispered, “It’s supposed to be.”
She ran her thumb over his bottom lip, which was larger and fuller than the top, though not plump by any means. Finally, she looked back into his eyes.
“Now I’m afraid to sleep. I’m tired of him, Brayden. I’m tired of being scared. I want to remember what it’s meant to be like.” She kissed him again, and whispered in his ear. “Help me forget the nightmare. Make me remember the love.”
He pulled her back, his hands hard and strong on either side of her face. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea. What if . . .”
“Oh . . .” He didn’t want to. Why hadn’t she thought of him? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean. If you don’t want . . .”
God, this was like before.
“Not want what? What were you going to say?” he coaxed.
“I just didn’t think about how this would affect you. If you’d want . . . That is . . .” She couldn’t get the words out.
“Christian. Look at me.”
Her gaze rose and locked on his and she couldn’t define what she saw in his eyes. “You are always beautiful to me and you mean so much, I’m scared of hurting you.”
“I’m not scared of you, Brayden. Please? Make him go away. I wake up feeling dirty and I want to wake up remembering sunshine, the warmth of your hands on me, the heat of loving kisses.” She felt her lip tremble. “I want my life back. With you.”
His eyes burned in their intensity. “You don’t ask much, do you?”
She held her breath, afraid he’d tell her no, not sure if she really wanted him to agree.
Slowly, he lowered his face to hers, still clasped between his hands. Against her lips, he swore, “I’ll make you remember. It’ll only be you. Only be me. I swear it.”
Brayden pulled her close to him and lost his fingers in her hair as he deepened the kiss.
Some sane part of him warned him this was a disastrous path, but the echo of her words pleaded through him.
Make me forget. Make me remember . . .
He never wanted a woman so badly in his life, and was so terrified he’d muck it up. Her lips were soft under his. He wanted to dive, to taste, to claim and wash away.
But he wouldn’t. Slowly, he had to go slowly.
The kiss went on and on, a slow wave rolling to a shore, only to join and become another. Since they had all the time in the world, he didn’t hurry, didn’t rush. He skimmed his lips over hers, teased hers with his tongue, ran his along the roof of her mouth and felt her smile and shiver.
Her skin was so soft under his fingers. He trailed a path from her jaw, down over the pulse in her neck, to the prominent collarbone.
She shivered against him.
Christian couldn’t think. The kiss robbed her of thought, tossed her into a sea of nothing but feelings. Brayden coaxed a fire deep within her to burn, embers buried under the ash of fear. But now, now they were glowing bright.
Her stomach tilted when Brayden swooped her up in his arms, the silks of her dress rustling. The kiss never broke and she scraped her nails along the back of his neck, felt him shiver slightly. She broke the kiss as he carefully set her down by the bed.
Her stomach tightened. A bed. She swallowed.
“We don’t have to do this,” Brayden said, his hands on her shoulders, gently kneading.
He pulled back and looked down at her, brushing her hair from her forehead.
The darkened curls looked right on her. This was his Christian. His.
He studied her, saw the skin jump over the blue vein in her neck. On a smile, he traced the telling sign of her excitement. But what if it wasn’t? What if she was really scared and forcing this.
“What are you frowning about?” she asked, smiling, rubbing her forefinger between his brows.
He held her chin between his fingers. “I want this to be right.”
For a long moment, her smoky eyes looked into his. “I know.”
“I don’t want to rush you. You shouldn’t force this. When you’re ready—”
Her cool fingers against his lips stopped him.
“I’m not forcing this, Brayden. Are we rushing it?” She thought about it for a moment. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“We should wait,” he told her.
Her eyes widened. “On?”
Brayden shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Her hands cupped his face. “Brayden, I want this. I want you. You make me feel safe and special and beautiful.”
“Promise me if anywhere, at any time, you change your mind, you’ll tell me.”
For a long minute she didn’t say a word, her thoughts shuttered from him by the sweep of her lashes. “I promise. I know you’d never hurt me.”
He didn’t know about that. He would never intentionally hurt her, it was the unintentional that worried him.
“You’re thinking again,” she said on a grin, lying back and pulling him with her.
And he was.
When she reached up and kissed him, wrapped her arms around his neck, he did nothing to stop her.
He let her take the lead. Brayden would only do what she asked.
One kiss turned into another and yet another.
Her hands pushed at his jacket, and he quickly obliged her in taking it off and tossing it to the side. Next to go was his tie. The shirt gave them both hell until a giggle danced out of her at his curse. That one sound relaxed him as nothing else could in this situation. She wanted this. She really, really wanted this. Them. Love.
This night would be one they would both remember with smiles, he vowed.
Christian felt him ease as he kissed her, his mouth gentle and coaxing on hers. She wasn’t sure why. Part of her was scared, but the rest of her wanted this, wanted it so badly she co
uld cry. Her hands raced over his wide sculpted shoulders, the muscles in them corded and tight.
Brayden was her strength and rock. Her physical fortress, the shoulder to cry on. He left his pants where they were and pulled her to him, on a deep kiss, sweeping her mouth, filling her with his breath.
He was hers.
She felt his fingers at her back, slowly drawing the ribbon through all the loops as he tried to completely unlace it. At one point, he growled, clearly frustrated. Grinning, she broke away and turned, sitting on the bed, with her back to him. Her heart fluttered.
She wasn’t certain she could do this here. In the bed.
He must have sensed something because he sighed and stood. “Perhaps we should . . .”
“No,” she said. “I just. I should have already starting sleeping in the bed.”
For a long minute, he looked at her, then he grinned and held up a finger. “Wait right here, I’ll be back.”
Christian waited, the air cooling her. She stood and paced. What was her deal? It was just a bed. A stupid bed, but there it was. She wanted and needed, but mostly just wanted to make love to Brayden. Just not in a bed. Not yet.
In minutes, he strode back into his room. In his hands were all the blankets, quilts, and the large fur rug from her room she’d used as a pallet for weeks before she started sleeping on the couch.
In silence, she watched as he layered them on the floor in front of the fire. He threw the silk duvet from her bed onto the top and then turned, stoking the fire into a blaze. She loved the way his muscles bunched and rippled in the low light.
“Is this better?” he asked.
She only smiled and walked to him, sitting down in front of him. He’d understood. Slowly, she nodded and looked back at him over her shoulder.
Brayden sat up on his knees behind her, gently kneading her shoulders. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“You still want to do this?” His breath was hot against her ear and she shivered.
Turning slightly, she leaned up and kissed him. “Yes,” she whispered against his mouth.
His fingers played along her neck as he kissed her, those slow gentle kisses that made her stomach flip and the passion in her awaken.
Finally, he pulled back, still kissing her ear as his hands pushed the dress apart, and slowly, so damn slowly she could have screamed, he unlaced the dress all the way down to the small of her back, just above her bottom. Warm knuckles brushed her backbone from her nape to the dent in her lower back. Goose bumps tingled along her skin, and a tremble pooled at the base of her spine.
When the material sagged, she caught it against her. For a moment, she looked at the flames of the fire, and then let the dress fall, pooling at her waist.
Brayden’s fingers were warm as they caressed her nape. His hair tickled her ear when he leaned forward and kissed the curve of her neck, his thumbs kneading the muscles of her shoulders.
He mumbled something in Italian. Bella? She wasn’t sure. Didn’t want to ask.
His mouth continued, around to her backbone.
She lay back on the blanket, the silk cool against her bare skin.
Her eyes locked with Brayden’s and the breath caught in her throat. So intense. The blue so strong, she was sure it would burn her.
His hands cherished and loved even as he pushed the rest of her clothing aside and off. Her stockings and garters he removed so torturously slow, she started to reach down and help him, but he only swatted her hands away, giving her that charming wicked grin of his before the man used his mouth and fingers to completely undress her. His teeth grazed over her thighs as he unhooked the garters, then his mouth followed her stockings all the way down to her toes. His tongue rolled along her ankle and she gasped.
Even with the fireplace, the room was chilled. She shivered, her nipples tightening.
“Cold?” he asked, reaching down and grabbing another soft cover, tossing it over her.
She only nodded.
“Not for long.” His lips were on hers, kissing gently, not demanding, slow and languid.
The longer their tongues danced, lips met and breaths were shared, the hotter she became.
His mouth trailed from hers, kissing down her neck, to her chest. The feelings he brought to life within her were sweet and warm, wrapping her in bliss.
He muttered something against her breasts, but she had no idea what it was, his voice too low. She just felt the deep vibration against her. His breath teased her chilled skin just before he bent his head. The heat from his mouth, from his tongue, from his fingers as he caressed, tasted, and kissed her breasts built a fire within her. Deep within her heart. One finger grazed the undersides of her breasts as his tongue danced wickedly across her nipples before he pulled them into his mouth.
Christian couldn’t hold the moan in and speared her fingers into his dark hair, holding him to her.
When he leaned up, he pressed into her, letting his chest connect with hers, and she gasped as his crisp hair crinkled against her. Brayden’s ebony hair flickered in the lamplight as he bent his head to her again. Against her lips he whispered, “Mia bella, Christian. Mia bella.”
God, she loved it when he spoke Italian.
His tongue teased, tasted, dove, made her want for more.
Long warm fingers blazed a hot trail over her breasts, feather light, just the barest of touches, and still she responded, moaning into his mouth. This felt so . . . right. As though she were coming home after a long journey.
She wrapped her hands around the back of her neck, pulling him even closer as his hand continued to meander down her ribs, her hip, her thigh, back up to circle around her navel.
He was being so calm, so gentle, so careful.
When his touch traveled its path again, she arched into him and closed her eyes, relishing in what he made her feel. Warm hands, warm touches, loving touches. She smiled.
His fingers circled her breasts again, slow and teasing.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he told her, pulling back. His eyes shifted in their blue, the heat storming in them. “Tonight is about you.”
So sweet.
She cupped his face and leaned up for a kiss. “No, tonight is about us.”
About us.
He heard the words, knew what she meant, but didn’t argue. No, tonight was about her.
Already he was so hard, he hurt. For months he’d remembered what it was like to be inside her, to be completely surrounded and engulfed by Christian. But what was a little longer? Nothing to him and everything to her.
Slowly. He wanted to go slowly. Not just for her, but for himself, too.
Tonight was about cherishing, worshipping, loving.
Her hands on his arms smoothed over his muscles and back down, a slight caress that went straight to his gut.
The light in her eyes turned them into deep turbulent smoke. Shifting and roiling.
He traced her brows, her nose, the rise and fall of her luscious lips.
“Ti amo, mia bella.” And she was, beautiful and his and he loved her. Loved her so much he wanted this to be perfect.
Her tongue darted out and licked her lips. “What did you say?” she asked.
He only smiled, and bent his head. “I’ll show you.”
The kiss was from somewhere deep within him. He wasn’t good with words, better with actions. Never could he tell her everything he felt for her. Instead, he kissed her, pouring all into that one kiss and hoping she understood.
Her arms tightened around his back, pulling him tightly to her.
Skin as soft as the silks of her dress slid beneath his hand, beckoning, urging him onward. The moans in the back of her throat drove him to the brink.
Slowly.
He kissed his way down her neck, tasting that scent that was hers, that always reminded him of Christian. Something heady and fragrant, complex as the woman in his arms. He loved that dent, just there in her collarbone. The skin pulled between his teeth as he gently suckled.
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Her fingers ran through his hair.
Brayden tasted his way back to her breasts. And what absolutely beautiful breasts they were, round, full, high. She always hid them behind too-large shirts and prim clothing. They filled his hands.
“Have I told you what gorgeous breasts you have?” he asked as he cupped them, and blew across the distended peaks.
She only shook her head, her eyes locked with his. While she watched him, he lowered his head, kept his eyes on hers while he cherished the bountiful gift she’d been blessed with.
Watching her watching him was a fuel to his raging libido. Slowly he licked around the centers, watched her eyes narrow, felt the leap in her pulse, around, then he laved the nipple and her eyes slid closed. Brayden pulled her breast into his mouth, suckling, pulling moans from her as she arched against him.
“Please . . . please . . .,” she gasped.
Brayden propped on his elbow and looked down at her, at his dark hand against the smooth creamy paleness of her breast.
“Brayden Gallagher Kinncaid, don’t you dare stop now,” she whispered. Her eyes glazed with passion.
He only grinned and lowered his head again. “Well, if you insist.”
In no time, those sexy little noises she made in the back of her throat filled the room again. He smiled as he continued to kiss every last delectable inch of her.
If nothing else, he would give her pleasure tonight, no matter how it ended.
Slowly he traced a line down her leg with his finger, followed it with his tongue. That little spot behind her knee he remembered from before. He kissed it, licked it, had her squirming as he ran his finger over it. He quickly took the rest of his clothing off and settled between her legs, running his hands up the insides to her knees, then back down to her ankles.
She was breathing hard. He hoped to hell she didn’t have an asthma attack.
Christian felt like she couldn’t breathe and it had nothing to do with a panic or asthma attack.
It was Brayden, his touch, his mouth. Him. Settled there. His hands lit a path up the insides of her thighs. Oh, God. Please.
She felt him shift, come up more and then he touched her. Just the lightest of touches, a feather-light caress.
Her body arched and she couldn’t hold the gasp or the moan of his name in. “Braydennnnn . . .”
