Page 70 of The Temptation of Roan Island

I hold my breath, flames licking up my arm from his touch.

“I can’t stop thinking about last night.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses the middle of my palm. His eyes are pitch black. “You tasted so good. And the way you called my name when I made you come. Goddess, Pippa, I want you so damn much.”

This is what I want, isn’t it? But what if it ruins everything? What if introducing sex diminishes us, ruins our friendship, makes things so messy in the end that Shemaiah no longer wants to take care of Tobias?

But those aren’t the questions that really hold me back. What really keeps me from responding is how similar his words sound to things Martin told me. He was constantly saying how much he wanted me. But when it came down to it, he didn’t really care about me or my son.

I know Shemaiah isn’t Martin. I know that. But right now I’m paralyzed by memories.

Shemaiah’s throat bobs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have⁠—”

“No.” I touch his cheek. “I’m just… surprised.” My hand moves up to his hair, and I let myself run my fingers through the soft strands for just a moment. “Let me think about it?”

He nods slowly, then stands, perusing my features like a caress. “I’ll go for a walk.”

“You don’t have to leave.”

“I do.” He bends forward, kisses the top of my head, then walks out of the room.

There’s a part of me that’s grateful. I need time to order my thoughts. He just suggested we cross a line we made for a reason. He’s proposing a short-term affair—one with an expiration date. One that could put everything at risk if things don’t go well and he decides he doesn’t like me after all.

It’s a lot to consider.

But at least this time, I’d be going into things with eyes wide open rather than with the naïve hope of forever.

30

PIPPA

Shemaiah returns just as I’m struggling to get myself into an elaborate evening gown Ruby packed for me. The jade-green satin dress is gorgeous, but I can’t reach the buttons in the middle of my back. When the door snaps shut, I spin to face Shemaiah, my hands pressed to my chest to keep the dress in place.

Standing just inside the room, his eyes consume me as if I were dinner. “You look stunning.”

“I can’t button it up.”

“Would you like some help?”

I turn my back to him. “Please.”

Through the mirror’s reflection, I watch him walk forward. He stops behind me and tilts his head down. His tongue peeks out as he wets his bottom lip. His knuckles skim the middle of my back as he fits the buttons between his fingers. Chills erupt on my skin, a spark snapping up my spine only to set fire between my shoulder blades. Button by button, his skin against mine adds fuel to the flames inside me.

My breath turns shallow.

When Shemaiah lifts his head, our eyes meet in the looking glass.

Neither of us cross the divide by saying anything, doing anything. The look, however, is filled with an unspoken promise.

When he finishes buttoning the dress, he lightly places his hands on my shoulders. “Are you ready for dinner?”

I nod, unable to trust myself to speak.

“Let me change my shirt.”

He disappears into the bathing room and shuts the door. I wait at the window mentally preparing to face Shemaiah after our conversation this afternoon. If there wasn’t so much uncertainty between us, I might suggest having dinner brought to our room, but as it is, I need the distraction of a large dining hall.

The whole time Shemaiah was gone, I went back and forth, weighing the pros and cons. I’m still at war with myself.

The washroom door clicks as it opens. My chest warms, and my heart thumps with a sturdy rhythm when I see Shemaiah in his formal attire.