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He broke the kiss, sliding his lips down her throat, catching the vibration of her groan. She tasted so good, salty, and sweet, mixed with a heady spiciness, some crazy elixir created to drive men to the edge of lust. One hand slid up her satin dress, while the other held her to him, bending her back so he could graze the top of the beading with his teeth.
“You’re making me crazy,” she murmured, her hand anchoring his head against the silkiness of her chest.
He reached for her zipper as riotous applause sounded inside.
Mary Paige stiffened, her hand uncurling from his hair. “Oh, my…stop.”
He released her and took a step back, realizing they’d both forgotten where they stood. “Shh, no one saw.”
She pressed a hand to her lips. “But if they had— I mean, I suppose everyone thinks—”
“Come with me,” he said, taking her hand.
“Where?”
“Away from here,” he said, drawing her into his arms, moving them away from the doors and into the shadows.
“You’re talking about something more than leaving here,” she said, shivering as he brushed his lips against her collarbone. Mary Paige felt so different in his arms. This was no carefully constructed woman with sharp angles and practiced moves. Mary Paige was like a newly opened bloom.
New, wonderful, and fresh.
He brushed his mouth across her jaw, moving to her ear. “Please, come with me. Let me love you, Mary.”
Her hands stroked the hair at his neck, making the fire inside him crackle. Then her hand found his jaw and she pushed him away slightly so she could see his eyes.
“I want to go to your place,” she said.
He grabbed her hand and started to move toward the entrance.
“But I can’t.”
Her words stopped him. “Why not?”
The chill of the night air filled the space around him as Mary Paige stepped away, raising trembling hands to her face, pushing blond strands of hair behind her ears. “Because I’m not like Creighton, or any of the other girls you sleep with. I can’t lie to you and say it won’t mean something to me. I’m not wired that way…even if I really, really want to be.”
He felt stupid, unable to comprehend her words while he stared at the creature who was exactly what he wanted, but who denied him on principle.
“You make it sound like you’re some paragon of virtue…and I’m the very devil. Do I need to marry you? Is that what you’re saying? You don’t sleep around? You don’t—” Anger flooded him, which was childish, churlish and any other “ish” he could think of.
Brennan tried to control his emotions, but Mary Paige’s words hurt. Her actions stung. He knew she wanted him, but she treated him like something she might get on her hands and have to disinfect to get off. Was he really that horrible of a person? “You make me feel like a bad person all the time.”
“I don’t mean to.”
“But you do.” He regarded the same crack in the same planter, hating himself for caring what Mary Paige thought, for opening himself to pain.
“I don’t think you’re bad, Brennan, but I don’t want to be treated as a plaything.”
“Really? That’s what you think? I’m some martini-swilling bachelor who sleeps with anything that moves with little regard for a woman’s feelings? You have a damn bad opinion of me, don’t you?”
“No,” she said, her eyes dark in the shadows, but defensive. She didn’t care for his words? Fine. He didn’t care for being treated like some lothario who jumped from bed to bed with no consequence.
“Doesn’t show,” he said, turning from her.
“Wanna know the truth, Brennan?”
“Hmm, let’s see… I’m a Scrooge. I have no soul. I—”
“I’m afraid of what I feel for you.” Her words were soft and brutally honest, and they soothed the injury done to his pride, reined in the sarcasm before he let loose.
