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“And that’s a cliché,” she said.
He frowned at her. “What?”
Rainne pushed away from him, tidied the first-aid kit and walked across the room on wobbly legs to put it on the desk.
“I said it’s a cliché. Every romance novel I’ve ever read has the hero getting physical with the heroine then saying it was a mistake. It’s just him hiding from being hurt. Macho bull-crap. It wasn’t a mistake, but it also doesn’t have to happen again if your poor, wee, delicate heart can’t handle it.”
Alastair gaped at her.
“I’m going to use the bathroom,” Rainne said, and hoped he didn’t call her on running away, which was as much of a cliché as the rubbish he’d spouted.
???
Alastair watched Rainne stomp away, her head held high with indignation, and his chest ached with the need to keep on touching her. He knew he was behaving irrationally. He didn’t want to touch her, but he couldn’t seem to stop. She drew him to her like a bear to honey. But he had to resist. He had to fight the pull. He had to remember all the reasons starting something with Rainne would be a bad idea—the top one being she couldn’t be trusted not to rip his heart out all over again. He closed his eyes with a groan. He shouldn’t have kissed her. All it did was make him remember how good it was between them.
He couldn’t stop his mind from going over that one night they’d spent together. It’d been snowing then too. The Christmas market had been in full swing and the two lingerie shops were putting on a runway show. Rainne should have been there—she was manager of one of the shops—but instead she’d turned up at his door, cold and shivering. So completely devastated by something—he later found out her family had ripped her apart, but at that moment he’d been totally undone at the sight of her. He would have done anything, said anything, to make thin
gs okay for her. He’d felt helpless and panicked as he’d taken her up to his bedroom. He’d wished she’d pointed him at something to hit and let him go to it. Instead she’d stood there, trembling, eyes wide with unshed tears, cheeks stained with the evidence of tears already shed. And she had broken him in two.
“You want to talk about it?” He hoped she would tell him who to hit. No, who to break for hurting her.
She shook her head, but didn’t utter a word. Leaving him at a loss. He hated feeling helpless. Hated it. Alastair glanced around the room as his mind ticked off all the things he should ask or do to make things better for her. None of them seemed to be right.
“What do you want to do?” he asked at last.
Her shoulders relaxed slightly as her wide blue eyes peered up at him. He felt like she was looking past his skin to deep inside of him. To a place no one else had ever seen before.
Without a word, she stepped in to him, stood on her toes and kissed him. He’d intended to keep the kiss short and comforting, but she wouldn’t let him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she ran her tongue over the seam of his lips. It was more than he could take. Kissing Rainbow was addictive. He’d never get enough. His hands settled on the small of her back as he pulled her tight against him. Soft curves flattened against his wiry frame. Curves he wanted to learn—first with his fingers and then with his tongue.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth, taking control of the kiss. He wanted to taste all of her. To feel all of her. She was perfection. He fought against the voice inside his mind telling him to throw her on the bed and brand her with his touch so that she, along with everyone else, would know she belonged to him. Struggling for control, he pulled back and did the sensible thing. The thing he had to do for her sake.
“Rainne,” he said against her lips, his voice hoarse from wanting her. “What are we doing?”
He knew what he wanted to do, what he was desperate to do, but now wasn’t the time to think with his dick.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t even look like she was listening. Instead she stepped out of his embrace and casually unbuttoned the straps on her purple dungarees, letting the bib fall to her waist. Her eyes never left his, as though in challenge, daring him to try to stop her. His mouth was dry, his jeans were too damned tight and his heart was beating so fast he felt giddy. Rainne didn’t seem to care about the effect she was having on him. Or she was pleased with it. Alastair didn’t get a chance to figure out what she thought, as she diverted him by bending over and removing her boots and socks. Alastair was momentarily distracted by the fact she’d painted each of her toenails a different colour, making them a rainbow to match her hair. He started to smile, but swallowed it when her dungarees fell to her feet. She calmly stepped out of them.
Words. He needed to find words. He needed to be sensible. The girl wasn’t in a good place. He couldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability. He was bloody well going to be honourable if it damn well killed him.
“Rainne. You’re upset. This isn’t the best time. You’re not thinking straight.”
She looked up at him with such undisguised need it almost made him crumble.
“I mean...” He stumbled over his words, feeling foolish that his will was weak where this woman was concerned. “I mean, I want to.” Great. Now he sounded like he was twelve. Any other time and he would have told her exactly what he wanted to do to that glorious body of hers—in filthy, lust-filled detail. But this wasn’t the time.
He took another breath. “You don’t know what you’re doing right now.”
Rainne raised an eyebrow, which made her look sexy and cute, then reached down grabbed the bottom of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head.
Suddenly it was hard to breathe. He had to remind himself to suck in air. Her full breasts were cupped by the sexiest pale pink bra he’d ever seen. It made him want to suck her nipples through the lace. His eyes dawdled over the curve of her hip, to the flare of her thigh. Her mound was covered in more pink lace. A tiny, delicate triangle of the stuff that would rip with the barest tug. His fingers twitched to tug. To expose her to his gaze and touch. To get rid of the thin barrier between him and paradise.
Slowly, she turned her back to him, lifted her rainbow-coloured hair and waited for him to unclasp her bra. For a moment, Alastair was frozen to the spot. The woman was wearing a thong. The soft curves of her voluptuous rear were exposed for his pleasure. And it was definitely his pleasure to see them.
She glanced at him over her shoulder as though to prod him into action. No patience, his Rainbow. Couldn’t a man appreciate the feast laid in front of him? Apparently not. He stepped forward, trailed his fingertips from the base of her skull, down her spine, to the clasp of her bra. It gave way under his touch, springing away from her back, leaving her bare to him.
She shook the lingerie off, let her long hair fall down her bare back almost to her hips and slowly turned towards him. Alastair let out a gasp at the beauty in front of him. Soft, firm breasts, creamy skin and dark pink nipples that were tight, hard and ready to be touched. She stood there, waiting as he looked his fill, completely at ease with being naked around him—as she should be. Because if Alastair got his way, she’d never wear clothes again.
He looked up into her warm eyes and opened his mouth, ready to ask again if she was sure about this. Rainne stopped his question with a nod that made him smile. He wasn’t a saint. He didn’t have the willpower of Hercules. He’d asked enough. Now he was going to take.
