Her orgasm only served to whet her appetite for more. But when he removed his hand, he pulled her to a sitting position and backed away, dragging his hand through his hair. She saw apology in his eyes, regret, all the things she didn’t want to see.
Shaking from the aftereffects, she slid her legs over the table. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. I just … don’t think it’s a good idea to go further.”
“Why?”
“Because we should take this slow.”
The heat of embarrassment and anger suffused her face. She’d asked, and he’d answered. She’d wanted this tonight for so many reasons. To comfort him, yes, but also because she’d thought they were growing closer.
Obviously, she was wrong. He still thought of her as a demon, not a human. Not a woman. Oh, sure, he could get the hots for her, but he couldn’t see it through, because bottom line, she had demon blood. He could talk a good game about trust, but he really didn’t trust that she wouldn’t sprout fangs while in the middle of sex and try to kill him.
Could she blame him for that?
She jerked her T-shirt down to cover herself.
Dalton leaned against the counter, shirtless, his shorts riding dangerously low on his hips. The evidence of his desire was still outlined for her to see, to want. She was consumed with this inexplicable need to leap off the table and throw herself at him. Her body throbbed all over.
“I’m sorry, Isabelle. This is my fault. I got carried away.”
Un-freaking-believable. He couldn’t handle the demon side of her. He wanted a human lover, not a freak show. It was all too clear. She just wished he’d figured it all out before she’d become emotionally invested.
Way to go, Isabelle. One mistake after another.
“I don’t feel well. I’m going to bed.”
“Isabelle …”
“Save it, Dalton. You’ve said enough.” She hopped off the table and dragged the remnants of her dignity out of the room before she did something stupid. Like cry in front of him like some … girl.
She shut the door to her room and turned her back to the door, blinking back the hot splash of tears she couldn’t seem to will away.
She used to be a lot stronger, used to be the one in control of men and relationships. When did that all change? When had she gone weak in the knees over a man? How could she let him manipulate her feelings like this?
How could she have let her heart get involved?
Damn him.
Well, that went well. There were so many reasons to go after Isabelle. Dalton wanted to explain why he’d pulled away. All the reasons why he hadn’t wanted to stop. But really, what would be the point? He’d already hurt her enough. It was best to just let her go.
He should have never started in the first place. So much for his self-control, for his determination of logic over lust. One look at her outside, wet from the rain, one whiff of her sweet scent, and he’d gone after her like some kind of wild animal with one intent in mind. He’d wanted her. That’s all he’d thought about. Not the repercussions. Not all the reasons he shouldn’t. Just the one reason he should.
Because he wanted her. And he’d had her, coming apart under his hand, breathing in the scent of her desire, feeling her moist heat clenched around his fingers and knowing in seconds he could be inside her, joined with her.
And then he’d stopped. Which was a good thing.
Right?
Shit. He went to the fridge and grabbed a beer, popped the top off and took a long pull, letting the icy cold liquid slide down his throat. Maybe it would chill out the heat Isabelle had caused.
She hadn’t seemed demonic at all when he’d kissed and touched her. She’d told him she was fully human, had asked for his trust in her. She’d been with him, in the moment, clearheaded and all female. His balls were twisted into knots remembering how she responded to his touch, to his mouth. Though he knew he shouldn’t, he still wanted her with a fierceness that defied all reason. It wouldn’t take much for him to stalk into her bedroom, take her into his arms and show her with his mouth and body how much he really did need her.
Which was what really shocked him, his need for her. He’d never needed anyone before, but the thought of being without Isabelle left a hole inside him.
Maybe that’s what scared him. They weren’t lovers; she didn’t belong to him. She was here because he’d made it his mission to help her, to integrate the demonic side of her with the human side. He hadn’t brought her here to love her. But touching her, being with her, brought something magical out of him.
She also touched his dark side. Something about her made him … hungry.
He’d lost control with Isabelle once in Sicily, had done something he knew he had no business doing. Something that wasn’t in the Realm’s plans. She tapped into a part of him that made him defy what he was, what he had pledged to be.
If he had any chance at redemption, he couldn’t go there again. Which meant he had to be hands-off with Isabelle. He couldn’t trust who he became when he was with her.
Wind howled, lashing limbs against the windows. Lightning lit up the sky like midday, and thunder crashed all around.
Yeah, that fit his mood. Dark, brooding, and just plain pissed off.
He grabbed his jacket, put on his shoes, and headed toward the main house, ignoring Mother Nature’s warning blasts against him as he fought his way along the path. He entered the back of the house, pulled off his jacket, and went in search of Georgie. She was in the library, reading a book by candlelight. She looked up when he entered, seemingly unsurprised to see him.
“There’s tension in you. Something else.” She studied him, her lips pressed firmly together before turning down in a disapproving frown. “Passion. What did you do?”
He dragged his wet hair away from his face. “Nothing. I don’t know. Something, maybe.”
Georgie laid the book on the table and laid her hands in her lap. “Come sit down and tell me.”
He did, taking a seat in the chair across from hers. It was old, but still well cushioned, and he sank into it with a sigh. He’d like to stay here and hide, but he was no coward.
Then again, maybe he was.
“I feel something for Isabelle. But it’s like dynamite when we’re together. Tonight, we came close …”
“You sense danger when you’re passionate with her?”
Did he? He thought about it. “No. Before, yes, but tonight, no. She was human when we were …together.” This wasn’t the easiest thing to talk about.
“Then why the hesitation?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dalton, I can’t help you if you aren’t honest with me.” She leaned forward and held out her hands. He laid his palms over hers, feeling the surge of heat that he’d felt with her great-grandmother whenever she’d touched him.
Georgie closed her eyes and hummed, rocked slightly back and forth. Dalton knew not to disturb her when she went into this kind of trance.
“You’re not afraid of Isabelle,” she said, tenderness and concern reflected in her chocolate brown eyes. “You’re afraid of yourself.”
He let his hands slide from hers. What could he say to that? She was right. “I pushed her away tonight, Georgie.”
“Did you want to?”
“No.” Hell, no.
Georgie nodded. “By protecting yourself, you’re hurting Isabelle.”
“I know.” He had seen that in Isabelle’s face.
“Wanting to help her is noble. But you need to make some decisions. Either decide to help her and keep your distance, or decide you want to be more to her than just her savior. What you’re doing to her now is confusing her. You’re doing more harm than good, Dalton.”