by Cara McKenna
Something shifted in his expression, a hint of alarm passing over his features.
“Just kidding,” she added quickly.
“It’s fine. Pry all you want, just don’t expect to get too far. I came here so I could forget all the things that drove me out of my old life. I’m not eager to rehash them now.”
“Sorry. I’ll drop it.”
“Though it’s sort of nice to be asked,” he added, catching her gaze.
“Yeah?”
“Sure.” His brow furrowed, chin dipping. “I can’t remember the last time anyone seemed eager to know me.”
A pang of heartache passed through her, chased by something softer. Affection, perhaps. Longing. “Maybe because you never answer when they knock.”
He looked up again.
Kiss me, she wanted to say. Was this how men felt, she wondered, constantly angling for a sexual segue and struggling to manifest one? Rob wasn’t taking any of her bait. If she was going to get anywhere, she’d have to be blunt.
“May I hold your hand?”
He blinked at her, a hundred perfectly valid questions tensing his face, starting with Why? But when he spoke, all that came out was, “Okay.”
He unlinked his fingers and offered his hand. Merry took it in her own, on the edge of the cushion. She let her body’s awareness swim in the warm, strong weight of him, the softness of his palm, the roughness of his knuckles, the heat where his fingertips had touched his mug.
They watched the flames behind the grate and she gave his hand a faint squeeze. When she felt him squeeze in return, the sensation lit a fire in her toes that crackled through her legs and belly, spreading a fever all the way to her cheeks and ears.
“This is nice,” she told the flames.
“It is.”
“No one’s held my hand in ages.” Not even her erstwhile fuck buddy. Probably no one since her dad, standing beside her as they watched her mom’s ashes dissolving into the Pacific tide. Yet this contact felt nothing like consolation.
“They ought to,” Rob mumbled. “It’s so soft.”
Merry had lost much of her old softness in the past year, though not in her hands, not in her heart, not her mouth or her sex. She rubbed Rob’s knuckles with her thumb, noting how the space between their palms had grown damp. Like chemistry, the way their two bodies could come together in even this most negligible way and alter that tiny climate.
Soft, she thought. Like Rob’s bed and sheets. As his spent body might feel against hers, after she reminded him of certain luxuries he’d sacrificed in exchange for solitude.
She turned to him, freeing her fingers, edging them along his wrist. Struck still as a statue, he let her roam up his arm and discover the lean muscle there. He watched the caress, lips parting. Merry took a deep breath, tugged gently. He edged closer.
She’d seen confusion on that face, alarm, disbelief. But this was new—a more hesitant breed of uncertainty, like he’d never been invited to kiss a woman before. His eyes darted between hers, lips pursing and relaxing, but drawing no closer. Maybe he was trying to be a gentleman, not registering which of them was attempting to seduce the other. His eyes shut, and he swallowed. His hands were on his shin, clutching it like a roller coaster’s safety bar.
Merry touched his neck, then his jaw, with its overgrown stubble. She wanted to trace every feature—those dark brows, strong nose, the faint lines around his eyes. His mouth, so sensual at rest, but tensed now, a tight, hard line. He was handsome when he smiled, sexy when he scowled; beguiling when he hesitated this way, unreadable and fascinating.
Those lips parted, and his deep voice was as soft as she’d ever heard it.
“You smell nice,” he murmured. “Like the tropics.”
“Thanks. It’s gardenia and jasmine and—” Quit babbling. “Anyway. I felt silly even bothering to pack it. But now I’m glad I did.”
His eyes opened, playing a game of tag with hers, meeting and dodging, meeting again. His lips pursed and parted half a dozen times.
“I want to, if you do,” she whispered.
His lids lowered, hiding all but a sliver of steely blue, and he turned, bent knee resting atop her thigh. The fingers that touched her jaw were warm and coarse, but his lips felt smooth when they met hers. This contact, hot and sweet as a gulp of tea, and her body dissolved like sugar.
The kiss lasted only a second before Rob pulled back, studying her face.
“Has it been a long time?” she whispered.
His gaze captured hers, pinning it in place. “It’s been a very long time.”
His uncertainty was gone. She saw a darkening in his cheeks and nose, his ears. His pupils had dilated and a sheen had come to his forehead. Never had a man’s arousal shown itself to her so viscerally, yet the shift didn’t scare her. Her intuition rang no warning bells. This man was a stranger, but her body wanted to know his—what it felt like, how it reacted, what it wanted from hers. Those were the secrets she wanted to uncover, not the ones that had driven him from his old life. She touched his neck, feeling the thump of his pulse, the heat of his skin.
Her own pulse raced, breath drawing short. Rob was the first man she’d ever gotten close to with her new body, and the mingled insecurities and pride that came with it. The possibility was terrifying. And thrilling. And right.
She watched him swallow a moment before his mouth returned to hers. Just a soft, shy press of his lips, then her name in a low whisper. “Merry.”
She shivered, excitement deepening. It tingled in her sex and breasts as curiosity sharpened to want. Rob kissed her again and she stroked his shoulder, hard muscle hiding under soft flannel. His beard didn’t feel as she’d expected—not scratchy at all. It underlined the differences between them, made the contrast of masculine and feminine all the more stunning. He angled his face, and his hand rose to cup her ear, bumping her sore temple.
“Ooh.” She clamped a palm reflexively to the spot.
He snatched his hand away, horrified. “Shit, sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Don’t stop, for the love the God. “You can keep . . .”
He nodded. “Okay.”
She shifted and they fumbled to get their legs arranged—hers arched over Rob’s, their middles edging closer. He kissed her gently at first, slowly taking her cues and beginning to explore her mouth. After a cautious start, he found his rhythm, the contact feeling more confident with each hot slide of his tongue. The hesitance left his fingers and a hunger rose in him, so tangible Merry swore she could taste it. The shift left her dizzy. He held her jaw firmly, making her imagine that same assured hold on her hip as he drove his body into hers.
Who are you?
Had this man been hiding inside him all along? Darting eyes and all those tight words, and yet this mouth—sure and sensual. And these hands, not shaking anymore. Cradling.
She clutched his hair, letting her grip tell him what she liked, clasping possessively with each thrilling stroke of his tongue. She was light-headed, but nothing like yesterday. Pure and desperate longing, now. He felt it, too. He told her with his hands and mouth, Let me be this way.
She broke away, needing air, and the sensation was mutual. Rob’s chest rose and fell with hurried breaths. Those lips weren’t tense anymore. They looked full and flushed, parted with awe or disbelief.
She ran her thumb across the patch of silver below his lip, then traced the softer grays at his temples. It was wondrous, suddenly being allowed to explore him. His gaze caught hers, and there was heat where before she’d seen only ice and stone. All at once shy, she spoke to his chest. “This is nice.”
“It is.”
Thump, thump, thump went her heart, every beat bursting with hope and nerves. “We could . . . Would you like to go to your room?”
He licked his swollen lips, eyes g
leaming hot behind heavy lids. “Would you?”
“Yeah.”
Rob’s brows drew together, his focus drifting beyond her shoulder.
“I know this is kind of . . . unexpected,” she offered. “And weird because I’m—you know. Injured. And stranded. And female.”
He nodded, attention still pinned to some spot behind her. “A little, yes.”
“I promise I’ll say, if things go in a direction I’m not comfortable with.”
That seemed to ease his worries. He met her eyes and took her hand, stroking the backs of her fingers. He accepted the invitation as she cocked her head, kissing her sweetly. Briefly.
Squeezing his hand, she pulled away, gaze jumping between those blue eyes. She smiled. “Let’s go to your room.”
Chapter Seven
Rob stood and helped Merry up, never dropping her hand as he led her through the den and into his room. As they crossed the threshold and out of reach of the firelight, her desires grew darker. She wanted to keep holding on to him, and let him lead her into these shadows. Prove himself a master at this, as well—acts as primal and instinctual as survival.
An oil lamp sat on a shelf at the head of the bed, and he lit it with a match, casting the room in its golden glow. Merry’s body caught fire as their eyes met.
Reconstructing the scene from the kitchen floor, they sat face to face on the mattress, her spread legs bent atop his. They held hands, stealing glances at each other. It’d only take the simplest motion for him to rock her onto her back and push his hips brazenly to hers, but she knew he wouldn’t. Whether it was nerves or deference, he’d never make the first move. Fine by Merry.
She stroked his hard arms and shoulders, curiosity drawn upward to that fascinating face, full of secrets. She ran her fingertips down the bridge of his nose, traced the lines bracketing his mouth with her thumbs. She brushed her lower lip along his.
“You’re very handsome,” she told him, grazing her short nails over his scruff. The words earned her another of those lovely, rare smiles. “And you’ve got very good teeth,” she added when they made an appearance. “They’re nicer than mine, and I’m from California—land of the straight white teeth. Being a hermit must come with surprisingly good dental benefits.”
“I had them done when I was in my twenties.” He grinned cheesily, showing off both rows.
“Well, you got your money’s worth.” She ran her nail across them, and Rob caught her finger playfully between his lips. Yes, she beamed. Stay like this—silly and fond. And to herself, For the love of fuck, don’t do anything to send this man scuttling back inside his shell.
He let her finger go, gaze darting. His expression grew sultry, hazy and hot with thoughts Merry could only guess at. The yellow cast of the lantern light stained his irises the stormy green-blue of the San Francisco Bay in winter. I could drown in you. Happily.
She cocked her head, and he took the hint. His kiss was chaste for only a moment, then his lips parted, inviting hers to do the same. Anything. Anything you ask.
She welcomed the slick heat of his tongue, reveled in the brush of his wild stubble on her chin as he angled his face. Then, wonder of wonders, his warm palm was at the base of her head, cradling, fingertips restless on her scalp. A chill trickled from the spot, down her nape and spine, fire chasing in its wake.
His breath drew short, flaring in hot bursts. An eagerness burned in him now, as exciting as the caress of his tongue or the weight of his hand on her waist. She’d found what she wanted—the male hungers hidden beneath his facade of self-containment.
Are you hard? she longed to ask. Or to discover for herself, with nothing more than a bold stroke of her palm.
Do you resent the company of your own fist, after all this time?
She could acquaint him with other sensations. That smooth, female hand he’d praised. Her mouth, warm and wet and welcoming. Other sacred places Rob hadn’t been invited inside for far too long. She’d never experienced this wanton pride in her femininity before. She’d been too unsure. Now she wanted to rouse a thousand reactions from this man with her body—make him moan, plead, whimper, bargain, ravage. Desire. Devour.
His eyes and hands and mouth made her feel all those things she’d yearned to—powerful, confident, magnetic. This man wants me. She could feel it, tangible as his touch or smell.
Her hands found his shoulders, his arms, his collarbone, and then his chest.
“Here,” she whispered, urging him to join her, lying on their sides, facing. She sandwiched his knee between hers, touching his throat and chest. Memorizing him.
His build was spare, all muscle and tendon, nothing to obscure the beautiful machine that was the male form. As her hands admired, she envied that physicality. In return he touched only her neck and jaw, the contact as gentle as it was eager.
Her hand slid to his ribs, poised to roam lower. But he caught her wrist, holding her palm still. Did he know where she’d been heading? Was he stopping her? It had been ages, for him. Maybe he simply wanted to savor every scrap of anticipation.
Or maybe he was one stroke from coming, unwilling to lose himself. Yes, let it be that. Let her have such power—the power to render a man as self-possessed as Rob completely helpless. She curled her fingers against his side, nails scraping through cotton, and was rewarded with his sharp, sucked breath, chased by the faintest moan.
Christ, she wanted to touch him. She wanted to feel him, hard, against her palm, with a ferocity she hadn’t felt since . . . Well, since before she’d ever actually gotten her hands on a guy’s dick. With the burning curiosity of her teenage self, that doughy, shy girl still years from discovering how a man’s excitement felt—and all too suspecting of that frustrating fact. She wanted Rob that way. With the fierce, angry hunger of a starved animal, she wanted to know his body.
When his grip loosened, she made her move. Her palm drank in his hard stomach, skirted the cool metal of his belt buckle. Her fingertips felt the soft, worn denim of his fly, then—
He caught her wrist again, a rough gesture that eased as he coaxed her hand back north. “No,” he whispered.
“No?”
“I don’t want . . .”
You don’t want what? A woman to touch you—after how long?
“You should feel safe,” he mumbled, lips at her temple. “After the way you came here.”
“I do feel safe. Don’t worry about that. I want to . . . you know. Do things. With you.”
“I want that, too. But if this is happening, let it be about you, tonight. Please.”
There was something more to this deference, she could feel it. But as long as he seemed eager to be with her, kissing and touching, she’d roll with it. Rob wasn’t any typical man, and he was right. The way she’d arrived here, in this place, at this moment, with him on this bed . . . She could respect his anxiety. And she could accept whatever he wished to offer, gladly.
She’d just have to resign herself to the unsolved mystery that was his cock, and take pleasure from this antsy need, instead of rushing to satisfy it. Goddamn, though—Merry had never been great at delaying gratification.
He kissed her, the contact starting deep, dark, sexual, then growing light and playful, until he was simply rubbing the tip of his nose to hers.
“I . . .” He closed his mouth at the thought.
“Yeah?”
His fingers moved along her arm, gliding over the smooth nylon of her shirt. Her skin tingled in their wake. “If you want to . . .” Again, he trailed off.
“Want what?”
He smiled, eyes shutting with a silent laugh. “That’s exactly it. What do you want? I want to give you whatever it is you’re after, but I’m not sure what that is.”
“I won’t know ’til we get there. But take liberties. Please. I’ll tell you the second you cross
a line.” She’d beg him to cross a line, frankly.
“Right.”
“I just . . . I like you, Rob. And being with you, this way. Let’s just mess around and kiss and see what happens. But you don’t need to be gentle with me.”
He edged closer, and where their knees had hugged, now it was their thighs.
Merry’s top didn’t offer much in the way of skin, but his palms held her neck and cheek, mouth hungry as he kissed her.
She recorded the flex of his arm, then stroked his chest and his hard belly, then dawdled at his hip. She wished he’d grab her wrist, force her hand between his legs so she could feel how excited he might be. His own hand slid from her throat and past her collarbone to cup her breast and suck the air from her lungs. She felt his heat through her top layers, but ached for so much more.
She’d have to steal the reins. Rob wasn’t going to be the one to take them to the next level. He was cautious first, horny second.
She fumbled with her zipper and stripped her top away. Underneath she wore a thin silk base layer and her bra, and the warmth of Rob’s palm felt far hotter, far closer.
They kissed, deeply—sexual strokes punctuated by the touch of their noses, the soft rasp of Rob’s beard, the odd, shallow breath and faint groan. He smelled impossibly good, like leaves and sweat and frost. Like man. Merry wriggled out of her socks, and he took that hint as well, their bare feet brushing. Hers were cold, his warm, but he didn’t shy from the contact. Quite the opposite. His feet fairly flirted with hers, and so starved was she for skin-on-skin with this man, it felt downright erotic. She wished he’d roll her onto her back, urge her thighs wide, stroke her excitement with his. She wanted his control, and his complete loss of it. Everything. All at once.
The kissing grew needy, hands antsy, and they wriggled closer. Finally she felt him. Stiff. Unmistakable, even through two pairs of pants. Hard behind worn denim, pressed to her upper thigh.
Let it be about you, he’d said. Well, she knew what she wanted.
She slipped a bold hand between them and cupped his erection.
