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She could. He would listen—be there for her. She placed the flowers on the foyer table and wrapped her arms around him. An odd, muffled choke-groan caught in his throat before his hands landed on her shoulders. “Is this a good idea?” he murmured gruffly.
No. Not at all. “Hugging?” she asked, knowing good and well what he was asking.
“What’s wrong with Nick?” His arms slid around her, loose.
“He was really upset.” She swallowed.
“I know.” He sighed. “Did you talk to him?”
“I did.” Better to rip off the Band-Aid. Still, she tightened her arms around him. If she told him about Nick’s ultimatum, he’d leave. That was who Graham was. He’d never do anything to threaten her family—the relationship she cherished with her children.
Just as she cherished her relationship with Graham. She cared about him, deeply.
That’s why, right or wrong, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him what Nick said. “It didn’t go well.”
He bent his head, his breath warm against her shoulder. “What can I do?”
She shook her head, too distracted by the brush of his breath on her skin. It started out as hugging, but now that he was this close, she wanted more. Like turning into his chest, burrowing against him, and breathing in his scent. Much better.
Stay. It was selfish but true. She didn’t want him to leave. She wanted to stay right here in his arms.
His gaze traveled slowly over her face. Beneath her hand, his heart beat like crazy. Like hers. He cleared his throat. “I should go.”
He should. That would be the responsible thing to do. And they were both responsible adults. But, just once, she wanted to do what she wanted to do.
“Felicity?”
“I’m thinking.” Her gaze settled on his mouth.
“Thinking? About?”
Honesty is the best policy. At least, that’s what she’d been told her whole life. “How nice it would be…if you stayed.” She held her breath.
His nostrils flared, the tic in his jaw muscle a clue that he was fighting for control. “You’d regret it.”
She shook her head. “No. No, I wouldn’t.”
He pressed his eyes shut. “You’re standing in a towel, asking me to stay. And, believe me, I want to.” When he looked at her, those brown eyes were blazing. “But tomorrow—”
“If you leave, I’ll spend the rest of the night aching for you, like I have been every night for…too long. I try not to. I bake or take bubble baths or rearrange my kitchen cabinets—anything.” Stop. Stop talking. The words kept coming. “But then I remember your touch. How it feels to be in your arms.” She swallowed. “The taste of your mouth. And I know what I want. More than anything. You.”
Chapter Seventeen
How the hell was he supposed to leave now?
He was what she wanted. He was what she ached for.
She’d laid it out there—honest and fearless. Now she was waiting on him. All the logical reasons he’d stopped himself, again and again, from calling or dropping by were impossible to remember.
He smoothed the auburn curls slipping from the knot on her head, silky-soft, wrapping around his finger. Her lashes fluttered against her cheek as he slid the clip from her hair, running his fingers through the mass of curls.
She leaned in to his touch, her emerald green eyes locking with his. “Stay,” she whispered.
His hand drifted on its own, tangling in her hair and pulling her against him. “I’m not going anywhere.” Her lips parted beneath his, welcoming him, hungry for him. There was no way he could deny her. His tongue dipped inside, tracing the velvety softness of her mouth.
Her soft moan ended any hope of sanity returning. She, this, consumed him. One minute they were standing in the middle of the foyer, the next, he had her pressed against the front door. The kiss went on, deepened, and caught fire.
She broke free long enough to tug his shirt loose, her fingers flying down the buttons and pushing the fabric aside. His shirt was gone. Nothing felt better than her touch—except the light kisses she pressed against his throat. While he was bowled over by sensation, she managed to grab his belt and began leading him to the stairs.
