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“Okay. Oh, I almost forgot,” I say, handing him a jewelry pouch. “Thank you for letting me borrow this. I’m sure the chain means a lot to you.”
He studies the pouch, feeling the velvet. “It was from my mom.”
My eyes widen. “Rob… you shouldn’t have.”
Rob clutches the pouch as I try to warm myself up. I realize now that I’d left his sweater at home.
“You have a habit of not bringing a jacket. Or did you do it on purpose?” he teases me.
“A bit of both,” I respond honestly.
Rob takes off the sweater he’s wearing, revealing his tank top-clad torso. A shudder spreads from my chest to the spot in between my legs. His muscle-packed arms are begging to be admired, to be touched, and hugged, and devoured. The tattoo that Cosmopolitan magazine had mentioned simply takes his sexiness to the next level.
“Wear this for tonight.” He puts the sweater on me, one sleeve at a time.
Oh, the warmth! It’s not the fleece lining, it’s the residue of his body heat enveloping me.
“Thanks,” I say as he stands behind me, helping me pull my hair over the collar.
My fingers fumble with the zipper. Seeing this, he invites himself to glide his arms against my sides and reach for it. When the slider arrives at my chest, I can feel his forearms brushing at my nipples. They’re erect, and I’m only wearing a lacy-thin bra. He must be feeling them.
My breath halts halfway between my throat and my mouth.
“You’re warm now?”
“Uh-huh,” I murmur. How many people had those arms rescued when he was a SEAL? When he wasn’t a SEAL?
Rob lets go of me, releasing my squeezed breasts, which start to swell and harden—at the same time stopping my mind from wandering further. I take a step forward to see myself out, but he grasps me back in his arms. I don’t dare turn my head, but I sense his eyes boring into me.
“Wait a minute,” Rob whispers.
Still unable to find the courage to turn toward him, I glance at a table beside me. Carvings and vases are on display, and there are a lot of photos. My eyes zero in on one that frames a gorgeous man staring back at me––magnetism and authority launches from his blue eyes. Rob Hartley, looking stately in his Navy dress uniform.
Rob finally loosens his grip and moves around behind me. I think he’s trying to fish something out of his pants pocket. Then he parts the neckline of my clothing, exposing my collarbones. Cold metal lands on my neck. His fingers make an excuse to strum over the draping chain, but it’s my skin that they touch. Within half a second, the coldness is taken over by warmth that travels back as he fusses with my hair, exposing my nape. His gold chain is back on me.
“I gave this to you that night because I was grateful. If I took it back, it would mean I’m taking back my gratefulness. I am forever grateful for you, Amber-Rose. So please keep it.” He talks in a soft voice, but it’s by no means soft persuasion.
I lean back against him. The tip of his nose touches my nape as he gently blows air against my skin. In my weakened state, the enormity of being with Robson Hartley, California’s most eligible bachelor, dawns on me. But he never once woos me with his riches, or displays his physique like those show ponies who wear tights and grunt at the gym. His seduction comes effortlessly, simply from caring for Matty—and for me.
“Amber-Rose,” he whispers, caressing my nape and shoulders. I glimpse his thick and veiny palms, and it turns me on as if I’ve been touched everywhere.
Then his lips drop a light kiss right under my left ear. My breath turns coarse, compensating for my desire to meet that source of pleasure with my own lips.
Since I left Aidan, my state of mind has resulted in ‘relationships’ with dates that never last more than two months. If I did that to Rob, I would probably break his heart, despite evidence outside this house telling me he’s all about business and good times.
With the family burden he’s carrying, breaking his heart is the last thing I want to do.
“Rob,” I murmur. “I’d better go.”
* * *
The momentsthat passed since I said ‘I’d better go’ have been a total blank. Now I find myself standing outside the door, looking at a man I suspect is Joe, who’s pacing the length of Rob’s Aston Martin. We’re sheltered, but we’re surrounded by curtains of rain. Rob said the man enjoyed driving at night, but in this weather?
Rob approaches the driver. “You okay, Joe?”
“Yeah. Are you ready, Miss?” The man tries to smile, but I look at Rob, and we both know there’s something on his mind.
“What is it, my man?” Rob asks again.
