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“You’re okay, I’ve got you.” His breath fans across my lips while his calloused hand draws soothing circles on the bare skin of my lower back. My terror fades with every sweep of his palm.
“You remember,” I whisper, a statement not a question.
“‘Course I remember. I remember everything about you.” His eyes ghost over my face with a look so tender I feel like I might shatter from the inside out.
“I stopped having them for a while,” I admit. “I was seeing a therapist in Paris that helped me work through my panic attacks. But once in a while, when it’s storming out, the memories come back full force.”
Leo goes silent for a long moment. I can’t read his expression so I’m not sure what’s going through his mind. “You never talked about what happened that night,” he murmurs. “When you were a girl.”
That night has always been difficult to discuss, but somehow, in the tranquility of the stateroom, with rain still pattering against the window, the words just spill out. “I was seven or eight, and my parents were fighting. Yelling, throwing things. It wasn’t like them at all, I was so scared. My tree house was the only place I could think of to run to.”
He’s quiet, contemplating my words, his hand idly caressing my back. “Why were they fighting?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, “but it was my father who was angry, my mother was… upset. He was mad at her for some reason. I never told my parents I ran to the tree house because of them. Some things are better left unsaid.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize I could be talking about Leo and me as well. But if he sees it that way, he doesn’t say anything. He just continues rubbing those delicious circles on my bare skin. “Anyhow. It was a long time ago.”
“Doesn’t make those memories any less powerful.”
“Maybe not.” I sigh and slide my palms up his solid chest. This is definitely breaching the no-touching rule I established, but right now I can’t find it in me to care, because his body pressed to mine is the only thing grounding me. “I just want to forget it all right now. I don’t want to think about anything.”
He chuckles, a sound that is low and rich. "That’s funny, I haven't managed to forget a single thing about you."
“Oh,” I say, licking my lips. “What exactly is it that you remember?”
His hand dips lower, settling just above my ass crack, and oh wow, a shiver races up my spine. “How you take your coffee, your brand of toothpaste, how much you love to listen to live music.” He pauses, his lips dipping to my ear. “How you like to be fucked rough the first round and sweet the second.”
His words set my pulse on fire. His scent, his power, his proximity—they eclipse everything else. The storm is a distant rumble in the background, barely noticeable compared to the excitement thrumming beneath my skin. The flutter of excitement in my core. Our lips are half an inch away from each other. I could lick him without moving a muscle.
Would that be so bad?
Yes, yes it would. God, Alyona, get a fucking grip.
I attempt to wiggle out of his grasp, towards my own side of the bed, but he doesn’t let me. Keeping me caged into his powerful frame, his voice is husky in my ear. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I just… I think this may be a bad idea.”
Of course it is. If I knew what was good for me, I’d push his hand away, demand he stop touching me, order him to get the hell out of this bed, just like I should have stopped that kiss earlier in Lipari.
But I don’t.
Instead, I plaster my body against his, because it’s too hard to resist this pull any longer.
He huffs out a laugh, a dimple forming on his left cheek. Why does he have to be so damn handsome? And shirtless. Heat emanates from his broad, half-naked torso like a furnace.
“Let me make you feel good. Let me help you feel something other than fear.” The storm has died, but his fingers continue making those small hypnotic circles just below the waistband of my sleep shorts. “Do you want me to go?”
He responds to my silence by gently weaving his hand through my hair, nudging my head back so I’m looking into his eyes. Moisture floods between my legs.Yes, please go. “No.” Why aren’t my words cooperating with me?
He chokes out a curse. “Do you want me to touch you?”
I exhale a ragged breath as he gently runs the back of his hand down over my burning skin. “I… I don’t know.”
“If I dip my hand between your legs, will I find you wet for me?” Without waiting for a response, he glides his hands down the length of my thighs and then palms my ass to pull me on top of him. Even through his shorts, I can feel his cock hard as steel, like a pole between us.
“Holy shit, Leo.” My words spill out, hoarse and desperate, his big body spread out beneath me. Pleasure trickles down my spine as his cock swells against my core. All the tension and fear still coiled in my body could be relieved by one intense orgasm that I know first-hand he can provide.
But it’s not a wise choice.
“I don’t want to fuck you, I… I still hate you,” I say, desperate to put him off any way I can. Those words aren’t really true anymore, though.
