“I know. Never mind. I’ll get you a T-shirt. Some boxers. Will that work?”
A look of relief and a smile were his answer.
“Okay, you get your face washed and I’ll be right back.”
It took him a few minutes to find something suitable, but he unearthed a clean, long sleeved Temple T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts with a drawstring waist. He refused to think about how erotic it was to have her wearing his clothes.
Refused. Not going there.
“Torie?” He tapped on the door. “You haven’t fallen asleep on me, have you?”
She opened the door, her face freshly washed, the hair at her temples wet. A laugh sparkled in her eyes. He could watch that all day.
“I thought about it, but the bed seemed like a better idea.”
“It is.” He closed his eyes and winced. “What I mean is,” he began.
“Shhh.” She put a finger to his lips. “I know. You didn’t mean anything by it.”
Was there disappointment in her voice?
He wished he’d turned on the hall light. Now that she’d turned the bathroom light off, in the dim light coming from the bedrooms he couldn’t tell if she was serious or…
She leaned into him and he wanted to groan. Out loud. She brushed his cheek with a kiss.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “For being kind. I’m sorry I shouted at you earlier.”
She took hold of the shirt and shorts, but he didn’t let go.
“Paul?”
“I’m not that kind, Torie. I’m…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t know what he was.
“You’re?”
He looked into her eyes and forgot about their argument, forgot that he’d wanted to justify his need to protect her. He couldn’t see their expression, but he could see her lips and he wanted them. She was close enough for him to smell the soap she’d used to wash her face. He could smell the faint scent of dog, from Bear. And grass.
“You smell like grass,” he murmured. “And moonlight.”
Where had that come from? He didn’t know, but it was true. There was a wild night perfume that was driving him to speak, to act.
“Paul?” Torie whispered his name. But she didn’t move away. Didn’t retreat this time. He shoved the past away and focused on the now.
“You’re safe here, Torie. I don’t want you to think otherwise, but I need to—”
“To what?”
“This,” he said, leaning into her, pressing his lips to hers. He wanted to snatch her up, devour her, pull her into his arms and fill himself with her.
The temptation was overwhelming, but he locked it down. Instead, he savored. Gently. Carefully.
Somehow, the careful touch, the brush of their meeting lips, the slow progression to a deeper, more passionate kiss was incredibly arousing, more erotic than the headlong rush. He allowed himself to use one hand to slide under the heavy mane of her hair which she’d loosened, finally, from its strict arrangement.
With the other, he gripped the door jamb, willing himself to stay upright. Willing himself not to grab at her, like a greedy child. There would probably be impressions in the wood, he was squeezing so tightly.
“Ahhhhh,” Torie sighed, leaning into his hand. The sensuous sound coiled around his body, tightening every muscle. He had to call on every bit of control he’d learned, as a man, as a lawyer, to slow down, to stop the mad rush he wanted to give in to.
He’d frightened her once, on their one lone date. They’d been so hot for each other, so consumed that they’d rushed into sex. They’d set each other on fire. He’d been so blown away, so shaken by the power of it, he’d backed away emotionally and physically. The wound of that came between them at every turn.
God knew if there were ever to be another chance, he had to take it slowly. Maybe, just maybe.
“Torie.” He managed her name from a throat gone desert dry. “Torie.” Just her name. If he said anything else, he’d lose it, start trying to explain the years away. Something.
So he just let himself say it, the way he wanted to say it.
“Torie.”
He kissed her again, softly, then drew her in, letting her rest against him. When she pressed in, of her own accord, he felt her jolt just a little as she realized how aroused he was.
“Paul…”
“Shhhhh. It’s okay.” It was so much more than okay. She shifted, her soft breasts moving over his chest. He thought he was going to explode, like a green high school kid with his first crush. He eased back. If she did it again, he would embarrass himself, and her.
“It’s been an emotionally charged day. We’re both tired,” he said, pressing the shirt and shorts into the hand that was on his chest. “Here, take these. To sleep in.”
They stood in the dark, hovering mere inches apart for what seemed like an eternity. She didn’t look at him; her eyes were closed. He took the opportunity to savor the look of her, the clean, sharp line of her cheekbones, the curve of her ear, the glint of gold from the new earrings. His hand, still cupping the nape of her neck flexed, and she rolled her head, rubbing into his fingers as a cat might do.
“We need sleep,” she finally whispered. “We’re too tired to think.”
There were a lot of things running through Paul’s mind, and his thinking was quite clear, but he knew what she meant.
Lowering his mouth to hers one last time, he kissed her, let himself drown in her lush, immediate response. Then, reluctantly, he pulled away.
The cool air rushed between them and in defense, she clutched the borrowed clothes to her body.
“Good night, Tor.”
She said nothing, just stood, looking at him as if she’d never seen him before. He got to his own bedroom door and stopped.
She finally moved, turning into the guest room. Before the door closed, he heard her response.
“Good night, Sir Paul.”
He hadn’t slept. Big surprise. Paul woke up feeling like he was on the last day of a four-day drinking binge, without the benefit of the fun party beforehand. His empty stomach was already clenching at the thought of seeing Torie again. A recipe for instant indigestion.
He groaned, and slapped the alarm again. Lurching to his feet, he headed for the shower.
Feeling only marginally better, he dressed for work and listened for Torie. He heard the water running and presumed she was showering as well.
“No. Do NOT go there,” he told his reflection. But the image of Torie, wet and soapy, in his guest shower wouldn’t be denied. He felt the sweat begin to bead on his forehead.
Great. He was either sick or crazy.
He’d put money on crazy.
Doors opened and shut, and he waited long enough for her to not be in the hall when he made a break for the kitchen. He couldn’t face running into her in the hallway where they’d kissed last night, fresh from a shower.
“Nonotgoingthere,” he growled under his breath as he slapped the coffee machine. It spluttered as the last of the coffee ran into the carafe.
He poured a mug for himself, threw a bagel in the toaster, and wondered if he should ask her about breakfast. Did she eat breakfast?
He had no idea. She used to, when they were in school. The protein girl, Todd had called her, always ready for eggs and bacon. Wincing at the memory of his friend, Paul got out another mug.
“Just going to knock and ask about coffee,” he lectured his raging hormones. “Christ, Jameson, you are not seventeen. Cut it out.”
He tapped a knuckle on the door. “Torie? You decent? How do you take your coffee?”
She didn’t answer. He frowned, leaning in toward the door to try and catch any response.
“Torie?”
Now he was worried. Decent or not, he was going in.
He knocked one more time for form’s sake, and twisted the knob. He’d only opened it an inch when she spoke.
“I’m okay, just…”
He knew that quaver. She was crying. Damn it. Steeling his nerves, reminding himself to be professional, he walked in.