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Blane kissed the inside of her thigh, scattering gentle, open-mouthed kisses on her skin as he crawled upward. On her abdomen, her navel, and settling on suckling her right breast, the nipple an acutely sensitive nub that made her moan again.
The weight of him on top of her was welcome, comforting even. The scratch of the denim of his jeans against her overly sensitive skin heightened her senses. She pulled him up closer, seeking his lips. He kissed her and she could taste herself on his tongue. Anne squirmed against him, wanting him inside her. She reached for the fastening of his jeans.
“No,” he said, grasping her hand.
She froze, surprised. “What? Why not?”
“It’s been a rough night for you. I want you to be sure.”
Anne frowned. “I’m a grown woman, Blane. Iamsure. Are you?”
“I wanted to make you feel good. Delete the horrors of tonight.”
She froze, her whole body going cold. “What are you talking about? This was because you felt sorry for me?”
“What? No—”
“That certainly sounds like what you’re saying.” She was suddenly very aware of her nakedness and pushed him away, grabbing at the sheets to cover herself. Her face flooded with heat. “Get off me. Now.”
To his credit, Blane didn’t hesitate, moving off her body instantly. The feeling of loss was immediate, but she tamped it down.
“I think you should leave,” she said, sitting up and clutching the covers to her chest. She hadn’t had sex in a long time and now it had been amazing, only to learn that it had been out of pity, not out of a natural, mutual attraction. She couldn’t decide if she was more angry or hurt, but anger was easier to deal with so she went with that.
“I was assaulted, and you’ve made me feel like it’s happened all over again.” Her voice could’ve cut glass.
Blane’s face whitened. “Anne, please, that’s not what it was.”
“I mean, it’s definitely better than a hug, but seriously, a cup of tea would’ve been fine.” She nodded toward the door, every inch of her channeling the innate superiority of her mother. “You can see yourself out.” She clutched onto her dignity with everything she had. If she didn’t, she’d lose it, and she couldn’t let him see her that vulnerable again.
Blane’s expression shuttered completely and he rose. She kept her eyes above his neck. She didn’t need to be reminded of just how desirable he was, his body cut from marble. Her skin was cold from the lack of his heat against her body. She resented that she missed it.
A moment later, he left through the door, closing it softly behind him.
Anne wanted clothes, but didn’t want to wear his t-shirt. It felt too personal and she was too fragile and embarrassed to don it again. So she pulled the covers up to her chest, turned off the bedside lamp, and tried to ignore the tears sliding down her cheeks.
* * *
Blane castigated himself all the way to the guest bedroom. How could he have gone so wrong? Done the absolutely wrong thing? To a woman who’d been through hell and back tonight. He’d been a dick to take advantage of her vulnerability. He just hadn’t been able to help himself. She was so soft and she’d been hurting and he’d wanted to be with her and take her so badly. He’d stopped himself from the latter, but only by a thin margin. Then he’d spoken and everything had gone sideways.
Her face had been a cold, impenetrable mask when she’d told him to leave. A queen informing him of his place. He’d known it would be useless to stay and plead his case.
Blane’s fists clenched in frustration. Ten years ago, he would’ve slammed his fist into a wall to vent his frustration. But that was then. He was older, wiser now. He’d already broken a glass tonight, an act of childish anger that, looking back on it, was embarrassing.
But he could focus his attention on the asshole that had terrorized Anne tonight. He had the wife’s name. He’d find the husband, and then he’d deeply regret ever touching her.
As for Anne, he had no idea where to go from here. Her body had tasted like the sweetest candy he’d ever had. Her response to his touch had inflamed his desire like nothing before. Even now, he was painfully hard, just remembering her body beneath his hands and the sounds she’d made. He wanted nothing more than to go back and finish what he’d started.
But he didn’t. Even though she’d seemed to want him. Tonight had held terrors and trials she’d never experienced before, and he didn’t want her reaching for him for security and safety rather than actual affection and desire.
Unfortunately, his handling of the situation had been a major FUBAR.
But the guestroom was cold and he was too agitated to sleep, so he crept downstairs, making no noise. He knew where all the creaks and squeaks were in the house. He ended up in the den, pouring himself two fingers of scotch. He hadn’t even bothered with a shirt.
A flick of a switch turned on the fireplace and he sipped the amber liquid, staring into the flames and wondering what he could do to fix everything. He needed to call Kade, get more information on Madeleine’s husband, but that would have to wait until morning. Kade was a family man now and had a wife and kids to look after. He didn’t need calls in the middle of the night.
Blane checked his watch. After two in the morning now. But sleep was far away. All he could think about was Anne’s bruised face, the taste of her on his tongue, and the look on her face when she ordered him away. And he still didn’t know why Alan had visited her in her apartment, or why she’d hid that information from him.
He finished his scotch after a bit, mulling over what this evening had wrought. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep tonight. Still, he headed upstairs, but he didn’t go to the guest bedroom. Instead, he sank to the floor and braced his back against his bedroom door. If Anne woke up in the middle of the night, disoriented or from a nightmare, he wanted to be there.
