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He pressed his forehead against hers. “God, take me. All of me.”
Her throat hurt at his plea. Rising up on tiptoe, she slid her hand around the back of his neck, loving the thick, muscled feel of it as she drew him to her lips. Her nostrils tingled at the dark coffee scent of his breath, and then she tasted. The shock of the cool flavor blended with the heat of his tongue shot a rush of electricity through her.
Pebbles on the gravel crunched beneath the wheels of a car as it passed by. It didn’t stop her, didn’t stop him from pressing into her.
Their mouths moved languorously, sampling, enjoying, the simple connection of their bodies, their tongues, moving her to her soul. She was him. He was her. His arm curled around her waist, dragging her closer.
“You’re in my head.” One hand sifted through her hair and tugged her back, his lips sliding along the curve of her jaw, up to her temple. “In my head. All. Fucking. Day.”
“I was so anxious for you to get home to me.” Her voice was a husky whisper breathed against his chin.“I was this close to touching myself.”
His deep-throated groan rolled across her skin like a caress.“You know that drives me insane.Why didn’t you?”
“I had to work, even if I didn’t actually get anything accomplished. I’m . . . a little nervous about my sash, Grey.”
Receiving no reply, she grew nervous and tried to draw away. “We should get going,” she said, but he caught her hand and halted her.
Tension rolled off him in waves. “It’s your sash,Toni.You make the call.”
“And what call would that be?” she questioned, playing with the fingers of the hand that held hers.
He seemed reluctant to speak, and equally as reluctant to let her go, but then he drew back and opened the door. “Get in the car. I’m taking you home.”
Home.
He’d made her home his.
He was in every organized compartment of her little place. He’d maneuvered somehow to pay the rent despite her emphatic protests, and all her expenses prior to Grey had suddenly, magically, become nil. He took care of everything.
She’d always thought maybe she’d feel less like a kept woman or some sort of mistress if he’d say those three important little words to her. She’d prepared herself to wait, and though she’d been accused of being proud, she’d swallowed back her pride and opened her heart to him, told him what she felt, praying he’d follow. She’d been so disappointed when she failed. She’d gambled with her heart, saying I love you to a man like him. . . .
Over a year and a half later, she was still waiting to hear it back.
Stubbornly waiting for him to be ready.
And one lesson in humility had been enough. She’d chew off h
er tongue before she had to beg for the words. Do something desperately needy like ask him. God! What suicide that would be. Putting him on the spot in that way. Would he feel forced to say yes? Or would he say the answer she thought was most obvious: I don’t know.
I don’t know was, simply, not good enough when you were head over heels for someone. In fact, it wasn’t merely not good enough; it was depressing.
Disheartened, she glanced out the window as he drove up to Lincoln Park. The night was dotted with gray clouds that seemed ready to burst open and cover the city with a deluge of rain.
After hushed moments, Grey said, “I spoke to Heath.”
She could feel his eyes boring holes into the back of her head. “Oh?” she said lightly, turning after three reckless heartbeats.
“We’re on for dinner tomorrow.”
“Dinner.” Her stomach churned.
His gaze shifted between the road and her.“We’re civilized people; we can do dinner.”
“Yes, of course.”
How to survive it was another matter.
But then maybe—and she dearly hoped so—by taking a second look at Heath Solis, she would realize he wasn’t such a powerful black force pulling at her, that he was just a . . . man.
