She’d shifted to her lioness form, hoping that would quiet the white noise cluttering her human thoughts, but her unease had shifted with her into an itch beneath her hackles, an agitation that had her pacing back and forth in her room like a feline in a zoo.
She’d heard Tyler step onto her porch and shifted back to her human figure, grabbing the nightshirt she’d discarded in an instinctive defense against what she was feeling. What he was making her feel.
As soon as she opened the door, she wished she hadn’t. Tall, muscled and weary, he looked far too good standing on her porch, something dark and needy in his eyes. Her soul felt like it was trying to reach out to him through her skin. She told herself it was just her animal side’s need for the reassurance of touch, but the words felt like a lie.
When he squeezed past her into the cabin’s single open room, the scent of him teased her, inviting her to press her face against his neck and breathe, urging her to rub against him until their scents were tangled around one another and everyone who came near him would know who he belonged to.
Zoe shut the door, pausing to stare at the worn wood until she could evict that instinct from her thoughts. Even her feline side wasn’t usually possessive. She didn’t need to mark her lovers and resisted all their attempts to mark her, so why couldn’t she stop imagining branding Tyler Minor with her scent?
“Nice,” he commented behind her, and Zoe turned, realizing as she did that he’d never been inside her place before. He was careful about boundaries, careful never to be alone with her anywhere there was a bed handy.
Zoe’s gaze slid to the large, low mattress, the only piece of furniture in the room. The austere lack of furnishings and decorations weren’t really her style, but she’d never seen the point in making a place feel homey if it wasn’t going to be her home.
Now the lack made her uncomfortable. Watching Tyler survey her bare walls and impersonal furnishings, she wished she’d bothered to do something with the place. At least it was dark. He couldn’t see much. Maybe he’d just think it was charmingly minimal without the light to show it was barren.
Not that it mattered what he thought. She refused to let it matter. He was just a guy. This was just a house. Shelter and nothing more. It filled a need. Just like he did. A physical need. Zoe took care of her own emotional wants.
Those emotional wants had nothing to do with the need to touch Tyler that burned under her skin. Nothing.
She didn’t know why he was here. To finish what they’d started in the garage? To fight about her tendency to speak for herself rather than play the meek little woman? There was a restlessness in him that matched her own, but she didn’t know how to soothe it. She wasn’t the soothing type.
Zoe opened her mouth to ask him why he’d come, what he wanted from her, but didn’t get a syllable out before he answered both questions in a way that left no doubt in her mind.
Tyler crossed the distance between them in two long strides, speared his fingers into her hair, cupped the back of her head and sealed his lips over hers in a searing, toe-curling kiss.
This afternoon had been about heat and chemistry and impersonal lust, but this was something else. The intensity in his touch, the raw, almost desperate way he held her, as if at any second she could be pulled from his grasp. This felt personal.
Zoe clutched his arms, using him as the only fixed point in her existence as the world seemed to melt beneath her feet like a Dali painting.
Her hands found his shirt—once as neat as the man himself and now hopelessly wrinkled by the day. Zoe had always marveled that a man who spent his days rolling around under cars could look so put together, but now she couldn’t think about his pristine façade. She just wanted to peel away the last traces of civility.
She fisted her hands in the fabric and backed toward her bed, dragging him with her until her calves hit the mattress. She knelt on the bed and knee-walked back, pulling him forward with fistfuls of shirt, never breaking the hungry kiss. Tyler leaned over the bed, propping his fists on the mattress as he pressed her back to sit on her heels as he explored every corner of her mouth. As decadent as the kiss was, as complete and deliberate, it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t get to the good stuff fast enough. Zoe had never been the patient type.
Hoping to spur Tyler to speed things up, Zoe dropped his shirt and grabbed the hem of her own, breaking the kiss long enough to whip it over her head and fling it away. Tyler groaned, his hands going instantly to the full curves of her breasts. Zoe put her own hands over his, holding them to her as she lay back on the bed.
Tyler eased down on top of her, still fully clothed, his head level with her breasts. He plumped and shaped them, grazing his lips over them too gently to satisfy her craving for fast and hard. Sensation escalated with each teasing touch. She raised her knees, bracketing his waist between them, and threaded her fingers through the golden mane of his hair. Half of her wanted to press him close and demand he get a damn move on, but the other half hesitated, enjoying the slow, intimate pace he was setting. Zoe let her head fall back to the mattress, closing her eyes, and gave herself up to the deliberate, tender seduction of his touch.
He worshipped her body with his mouth and hands, taking nothing for himself and yet taking all of her, more than she’d ever allowed anyone else. Her prized distance was falling away with each caress. Zoe squirmed beneath him, uneasy from the mix of desire and intimacy, writhing with the discomfort of this foreign vulnerability. But she didn’t stop him. She didn’t know if she could.
It was all in her head. She was imagining the tenderness in his kiss—the idea that it meant anything more than a satisfactory release was a fantasy of her own making. And as long as he didn’t notice her preoccupation, she was still safe, the most vulnerable places in her soul still hidden, even as he managed to stroke them.
But some of her unease must have communicated itself to him. Tyler braced himself on his elbows and looked down into her face, his gaze dark with hunger but penetrating. “You okay?”
Panic shot through her bloodstream. She hauled him down for a forceful kiss to avoid answering the question. She wasn’t okay. She was too exposed, but she couldn’t let him see. Tyler let her kiss him, calming her with the dragging strokes of his tongue even as she tried to amp him up until he wouldn’t try to peer into her soul anymore.
Then he pulled back and frowned down at her. “Zoe,” he said softly, her name a gentle scold, as if she should know better than to evade him.
Why couldn’t he just be a guy and play through without paying attention to whether she was with him?
“I’m good.” The words sounded forced, too rushed, and Zoe winced internally at the crack they exposed. Distract him. She stroked her hands down the corded strength of his neck and pushed open the collar of his shirt. “Why are you wearing so many clothes?” she purred, half-veiling her eyes behind her lashes.
Suspicion flickered in his eyes—why did he have to see so much?—but then Tyler grinned. “Clearly an oversight.”
He rolled away from her to take care of the clothes issue, and Zoe sat up, turning her back on him to collect herself.
What was wrong with her? This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? What she’d wanted for months. So why did it feel like she was getting more than she’d bargained for? She tried to remember what comfortable flirtation felt like.
She needed to get control of the situation. She wasn’t a fainting virgin or the kind of girl who assigned nonexistent significance to sex. She was a predatory cat, not the meek, sheltered prey. Get a grip, Zoe.