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I melted against him, inviting him to deepen our kiss. His mouth firmed on mine, claiming me with renewed ferocity in response to my surrender. The wild hunger we shared overwhelmed us both, and my hands shaped around his bulging muscles as he pressed closer, pinning me in place for his demanding kiss.
Finally, he pulled back just enough to allow us both to gasp for air. He kept one hand firmly on my hip, maintaining his possessive but gentle grip. His other forearm braced against my front door beside my head, caging me in as we exchanged ragged breaths. Unlike our last kiss, he didn’t rest his forehead on mine. This close, I could see that every fine line around his left eye was drawn with strain, as though he was holding himself back.
I didn’t care about his scar touching my brow, but it seemed he wasn’t ready for that kind of contact. It was somehow more intimate than his mouth on mine. The inch of space between our faces was suddenly a solid barrier, a wall that protected his worst vulnerability.
I wanted to show him that his scar didn’t matter to me. I’d been bullied for my appearance for most of my life, and I’d watched his awful sister inflict cruel emotional wounds while Max remained silent, allowing her to lash him. All I cared about was the feel of his sensual lips caressing mine, his intoxicating scent, and his protective instincts. I’d never burned this hot for any man, and I wanted more.
I went up on my toes, seeking another kiss. His hand left my tender hip to grasp my waist, pushing me back against the door. He kept that invisible barrier between us, but he swayed toward me even as he denied us both.
“If we don’t stop now, I’ll do something you might regret.” His warning rumbled over my sensitized lips.
“I don’t regret kissing you.” My voice was breathy and sultry in a way that was entirely unfamiliar to me. I tried to close the distance between us again, but he pinned me firmly in place, restraining me with an unbreakable hold.
“Allie…” He groaned my name, as though it caused him physical pain to hold himself back. “I want you. I want you so fucking bad. You don’t know what you do to me.”
His square jaw was tight, his sharp features drawn with feral hunger.
“Then kiss me again,” I whispered. The pulsing between my legs intensified, tugging me toward him.
He refused to close the distance between us, even though his eyes sparked with something like pain. “If I kiss you again, I won’t stop. I’ll push you up against this door and explore every inch of your hot little body. I won’t give a fuck who can see us. If you don’t want witnesses when I claim you, we’ll have to take this inside.”
For a moment, the memory of his hands restraining me in a different way flashed across my mind: he’d clamped his big hand over my mouth, pinned me to the wall in my foyer, and slid a needle into my neck.
I stiffened in his arms, and his mouth twisted in a grimace, as though he tasted something rotten.
“That’s what I thought,” he said bitterly.
Abruptly, he stepped back. Cool air slapped my skin where his warm body had touched mine. A soft gasp left my lips, my chest tightening. Without thinking, I grabbed his wrist.
“Wait.” My voice took on a ragged, pleading edge. I couldn’t bear his pain, his distance. I wanted him to lose himself in me, just like I lost myself in him whenever he was near.
He went utterly still, his chin lifted in a challenging sneer. But he didn’t pull his hand free from my desperate grip.
“This was a mistake.” He bit out each word. “I won’t bother you again.”
“No!” I refused, my fingers tightening around his wrist.
His brow drew low over his left eye, the scarred side of his face completely obscured in the shadow of his dark curls. “You want me to keep stalking you?” He delivered a derisive challenge, his lips still twisted in that cruel sneer.
I’d hit a nerve, and he was pushing me away to protect himself. I wondered if he’d let anyone this close to him since his accident. His sister had taunted that I’d been the first person to date him. How long had he been bereft of touch? Of affection?
My heart squeezed. I wasn’t ready to let him inside my home. I wouldn’t be able to smother my lingering trauma from that horrific night, and it would sour our connection. Whatever wild, hungry thing we shared was new and fragile, and I liked it too much to see it destroyed.
I didn’t want to see him destroyed. And the reflexive physical signs of my remembered terror shredded him.
