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I want to forget about the no-sex clause. I want what we had, briefly, back in that beach house, in that outdoor shower. I want his mouth on mine, his tongue in my mouth. I’ve been craving him so badly it hurts, and now he’s here, looking at me like he feels the same.
I want him to kiss me.
God, why won’t he just forget about all this complicated crap and kiss me?
It could be so simple.
“I just want you to be sure,” he says, eyes narrowed.
“I’m sure,” I whisper, meaning,I’m sure I want you.
He stays there. Reaches up and touches my chin. I let out a soft sound, nearly a whimper. His mouth opens, so close to mine. I can taste his breath. I can taste his tongue already.
This man, this difficult man. Keeping his distance one day, sending me gifts another. I don’t know what he wants, what he’s thinking, but I know what I feel.
I know what’s churning in my heart.
I want his hands on my skin. His palms on my hips.
I want him now. I want him to kiss me.
But he pulls back. Desire burns in his gaze as he turns away. “We should stop,” he says, voice sultry and low. “There’s a contract for a reason.”
“Gareth—” I say but he walks away.
“I’m sorry, Fiona. I want to, but I can’t. I don’t want to complicate this decision for you more than I already have.”
I stand by the windows, heart racing, wishing he’d come back. Feeling like he ripped something from my body.
Instead, he disappears back to his room. I hear the door open and shut again.
I stare down at my feet, blinking back tears.
What’s wrong with me? Why does he keep pushing me away when it’s so clear he wants this as much as I do? It feels good, we enjoy each other—why keep trying to deny it?
He pretends like it’s for me—but I wonder if it’s really his nice way of saying he doesn’t need me the way I need him.
Chapter29
Fiona
Ican’t sleep. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. Gareth’s room is across the hall from mine. I can picture him doing the same thing, in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. I glance at the clock—it’s barely past eleven.
There’s a sound in the hall. A creak, a door opening. My heart races as I sit up on an elbow. The apartment’s usually so quiet, except I hear footsteps coming toward my room. I’m about to call out when there’s a soft knock.
“Fiona?” Gareth’s whisper. “Are you awake?” The knob turns, the door opens.
He’s standing there. White t-shirt, black boxer-briefs. Staring in at me with that look like he wants to hold me down and feast on me.
I sit up, hair spilling down my shoulders.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I say stupidly.
“Neither could I.” He takes a step forward but hesitates. “You know we shouldn’t.”
“I know,” I say quietly. “But we can anyway.”
“I want to so fucking bad it’s killing me.”
