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The second movie ends, but neither of us move. He’s gently fiddling with a piece of my hair, his arm still wrapped around me. I shift my position slightly so I can rub his chest over his shirt.
He grows very still. “Scarlett.”
“What?” I move again, pressing myself against him more fully and tilting my head up so I can see his face.
“You know what.”
“What’s wrong with this?”
His face twists dramatically, like it’s taking great effort to hold himself back. His eyes are hot and fond and needy. Hungry. “I understand that you don’t have anyone else right now, but I’m not the kind of man who plays around.”
“I’m not playing around.” I’m not a particularly forward woman romantically or sexually. I usually wait for the man to make the moves. I might not understand everything that’s happening here, but I understand this much. Arthur is never going to make a move. He’s afraid it might be wrong.
So I’m the one who has to.
“Scarlett.”
“Why is it so hard for you believe that I might want this?”
He sucks in a ragged breath. He’s so tense he’s almost shaking with it. “Scarlett.”
I reach up to cup one of his cheeks with my palm. “Arthur, I thought you didn’t think of me that way, so I’ve been telling myself not to get ideas. But I can see now that youdothink of me that way. And so I can admit it. I’ve never felt for anyone else the way I feel for you.”
He makes another sound in his throat, but this one sounds more like release than restraint. He takes my face in both his hands and leans down into a kiss.
A thrilling joy slams into me, filling my head and drowning my chest and pulsing eagerly between my legs. I wrap one arm around his neck and push into the kiss, opening my lips and trying to suck his tongue into my mouth.
He responds with equal enthusiasm, grabbing a fistful of my hair and thrusting his tongue in a deliciously primitive rhythm.
My cheeks burn. Arousal aches. His body is big and solid and strong and so warm. Everything I’ve ever wanted. I can’t help but rub myself against any part of him I can reach.
“Baby,” he mumbles, pulling his mouth away but only to scatter little kisses over my chin and cheeks and jaw and back to my lips.
“Yes!” The word comes out with a gasp as one of his hands finds my breast over my top and caresses me there.
I work my way down his chest and abdomen until I can feel the tight bulge of his erection in his pants.
He grunts and gives a little pump of his hips into my touch. But then something changes.
He groans again—with a different resonance this time—and uses both hands to move me away from him. Heaves himself to his feet and takes two long, fast steps away from me. Stands with his back to me, breathing heavily.
“Arthur,” I whimper.
“I’m sorry, bab—” He gives himself a shake. “I’m sorry. I can’t— I shouldn’t do that.”
“You definitely should do that.” I feel like I might burst into tears, but reality hasn’t hit me fully yet. “Why are you still holding back?”
“I’m sorry.” He won’t even look at me. “I really am. But it’s wrong.”
Before I can get another word out, he strides out of the room, closing the door behind him.
***
Present
IWAKE UP, STILL DROWNINGin the kiss, still stinging from the rejection.
For a few moments, I have no idea where I am or when I am, but I’m conscious of a male body beneath mine. I’m lying against him, my head on his chest, my ear against his heartbeat. One of his arms is holding me and the other is slowly stroking my hair.
