Page 30 of Sterling Stone

I can’t be the guardian of that secret any longer, because it is keeping me from what I want.

Taxi.

“I’ve never kissed her. Never kissed anyone the way I kissed you.”

Taxi’s eyes soften only a fraction at the truth.

“And like you kissed me back,” I add, because I felt it. I couldn’t be completely wrong. There was a connection, at least briefly.

Her chest heaves again, and her nostrils flare once more. She doesn’t break from lasering those sterling eyes on mine.

Slowly, hesitantly, I lift my hand again to cup the edge of her jaw and stroke my thumb over her smooth skin, marveling at the softness underneath the rough of my hand.

I watch how she licks her lips. Her voice is quiet when she finally speaks, “Why didn’t you tell me? That night.”

“Because I wasn’t thinking about Em when I met you.”

Emerson and I didn’t stay in the same room. We didn’t even stay in the same hotel. She went where she goes and met me in the morning for breakfast.

“What you saw in the morning . . . that was me telling Em about the incredible woman I’d met the night before.”

I lean closer, feeling the cool metal of her bib overall clasps brush against my bare chest. Her gaze drops to the thick dusting of hair just below my collarbone. Slowly, ever so slowly, she lifts her hand, placing it over my heart, where it races beneath my skin.

The second she touches me, my flesh pebbles and my dick jolts, poking at the loose, hip-hung towel and nudging toward Taxi. If she notices, she doesn’t react. Instead, she keeps her hand on my chest another second, both of us watching where she’s touching me. Where sparks fly and my skin sizzles like she’s branding me. Then, she moves her hand, gliding it up and over my shoulder.

My eyes close, like I can’t handle the sensation, when I’m drinking in every atom of her palm against my flesh. It’s been so long since someone has caressed me, held me, fucked me.

The urge to rush this woman is almost overpowering, and yet, I don’t want this moment to end. Her slow map of my skin. The heated touch of her hand on my chest.

“Why didn’t you ask to come into my room that night?” she whispers, coasting her hand down my arm. The heat of her palm leaves a lingering trail of sparks, crackling and tickling my flesh.

“Why didn’t you invite me in?” I counter, low and deep, as I open my eyes and focus on her mouth again.

She shrugs, subtle and hesitant.

“I don’t do things like that, Taxi. I don’t meet women at random or invite myself into hotel rooms for one-night stands.”

It isn’t like I haven’t had them. I just haven’t had one in years. Watching my siblings fall in love, one by one, over the past twenty-four months has made me yearn for something I didn’t think I’d ever have. Didn’t dare to hope for. Something I’d given up on as a possibility.

As much as I’ve tried to reassure every one of my siblings that love exists, that they are worthy of it, that they deserve it, I haven’t bought into the philosophy for myself.

But now, I want it.

And I want it with this woman who felt unique and special that night. What are the chances of not only a strange encounter in a hotel hallway but a second meeting in a bar? And the way she batted those lashes at me, laughed with me, told me passionately about something so significant to her as her art. Told me with heartbreak in her voice about her mother. Taxi was beautiful on the inside as well as the outside, and something deep inside me cried out for more with her.

I couldn’t explain it, but I wanted it.

And here she is a third time, taunting me with her presence and her saucy attitude, and making me question everything again.

“Why should I believe you?” she asks, the question honest and raw.

I want to beg her to trust me, but it’s never that simple. “Let me show you who I am.”

Taxi focuses on her hand, blazing a pattern against my chest, over my shoulder, down my arm. I’ll get a tattoo to permanently mark where she’s blazing that trail over my skin.

But then her hand abruptly stops right over my heart, and she applies light pressure, extending her arm, gently forcing me back.

“I can’t.” No more whispers. No more caution. Her voice is strong and firm.