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He touched her, held her, kissed her and then expected a coherent answer? She stuttered the same sounds—“I—I…”—while trying to force her brain into some sort of recovery mode. “She—she said—”
His beautiful blue eyes opened wider, encouraging her, and she almost forgot again, but the words slipped out on a last breath. “Call her.”
“She said to call her when you’re ready for her to come home?”
Mila nodded. At the time, she’d thought maybe Gramma was suffering from enforced captivity, too, and not thinking clearly. Now she knew Gramma had been thinking perfectly clearly, thank you, and doing a whole lot of hoping. Which was probably the reason, she realized now, that she’d left for her visit downstairs right after Sam called to say he was on his way back.
“Then let’s go back to the apartment.” He grinned again. “You can do all kinds of things in the privacy of a bedroom and not have to worry about getting rained on. Okay?”
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded, but her brain didn’t give her body the command to start moving. Sam took the umbrella from her, shook out the water collected inside and snapped it shut, then laid his hand on her hip and nudged her toward the door. Faint scents of lemon wafted around them, pale and insubstantial compared to all the wonderful smells that were him, her, them. Heat spread from where his fingers touched her, and with it came something else, something more. Certainty. She wanted to do all kinds of things with him, no matter how it scared her, because he would be careful and tender and would never, ever hurt her. No matter that she had no experience to offer him, he would be satisfied with what she could give, and he would teach her the rest, and she would be a better person for it.
Oh, hell, yeah, this was definitely okay.
* * *
Poppy was still stretched out on the sofa, paying them no mind as they came in and hung up the umbrella. The air-conditioning raised gooseflesh on Sam’s skin and changed his shirt from coolly damp to uncomfortably cold in seconds. He closed and locked the door and thought about scooping Mila into his arms and carrying her straight to the bedroom with no chance to change her mind. Too overeager?
Of course, he couldn’t do that. Even if she had changed her mind, the wanting might kill him, but he would accept it. He knew what he wanted. This had to be her choice.
She stepped out of her sandals, glanced at him with that young, shy, innocent look and smiled a shy, innocent smile before she turned and walked away, across the room and into the hall. The sway of her hips mesmerized him, and her long, lean, muscular legs made the muscles in his own legs go unsteady.
He followed her, skirting around furniture, passing the dining table and walking into the hallway just in time to see her disappear into the first guest room. He paused in the doorway to watch her watch the rain out the window. One-handed, she released the clip that held her hair in a loose braid, combed her fingers through it, then gave her head a shake to send her hair tumbling free, and his breath hitched in his chest. She was so damn beautiful. So…
Words failed him. Instead, he moved into the room, closed the door behind him and threw the room into dim shadow. “Poppy—” His voice was rough and husky. He cleared his throat. “Poppy won’t mind?”
She gave an expressive shrug that included a who-knows twist of her face. Right. She’d never been alone in her bedroom with a man for any period of time. How could she know how her dog would behave?
She’d never been with a man. Any man. And he was the one she’d chosen. Wow. Just…wow.
He walked slowly to her, circling the bed, stopping in front of her, reaching past to close the blinds for privacy. “You don’t, um, carry condoms?” He meant it as a statement—why would she?—but his voice went up at the end anyway.
Lips pursed, she shook her head. “You don’t, either.” The idea pleased her. “Gramma said I’d find anything I need while I’m staying here in the nightstand drawer.”
The night table was pine, old and battered from years of living, and the drawer stuck when he pulled the handle. It slid out crookedly, revealing a package of tissues, her pain pills, a bottle of ibuprofen and a box of prophylactics. “You need to blow your nose?”
