Dammit.
He shouldn’t have said it. Not like that. Not with her body close and the house quiet and her daughter—niece, he corrected himself even though the word never sat quite right—safe and happy with people who already loved her.
Maren looked up at him. Her eyes became a little dreamy as she rested her cheek against his chest, just over his heart. Colin stopped moving for half a beat.
Careful.
His arm tightened around her waist anyway. He remembered how to breathe and kept swaying with her in the middle of the safehouse living room while late-afternoon light stretched longer and longer across the floor.
One song became another.
Then another.
Neither of them mentioned stopping.
Maren relaxed against him, her hand resting on his shoulder, her fingers absently stroking the seam of his shirt. Colin felt every pass of her fingertips down to his bones.
God help me.
Maren sighed.
“Is everything all right?”
She gave a quick laugh that didn’t sound like her. “It’s been a while since anyone…”
“Since anyone what?”
“Since anyone touched me like this.” Maren’s cheeks flushed. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Probably not,” he agreed.
“It’s a shame. About twenty pounds ago, I had a decent figure.”
Colin stopped. Still holding her, he stared down into her eyes. For one long second, he couldn’t speak.
Then he slid his hand lower, over the curve of her ass, slow enough that she could stop him. She didn’t. Her eyes widened, and her breath caught as he gave her a healthy squeeze.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he said.
“Colin—”
“I like your body the way it is.” He squeezed again, gentler this time, but with enough intent that there was no mistaking him.
Her lips parted.
He squeezed once more. “Very.”
Her fingers tightened on his shoulder.
“Much.”
A shaky laugh escaped her. “You don’t have to say that.”
“No, I don’t. I mean it, Maren.”
She searched his face like she was trying to find the catch. Her voice came out quiet. “I’m not used to being looked at like this, either.”
“How am I looking at you?”
