“I do. But I’m not coming in.”
“You’re—but—” I stopped talking, afraid I sounded as gobsmacked as I felt. He’d asked me if I wanted more, and so I’d been expecting everything. Wanting it. Even craving it.
Now I stood in front of my doorway, confused, off balance, and uncertain where exactly I’d gone off the rails.
“I’m not coming in tonight,” he clarified, as his fingers brushed my cheek. “But make no mistake, Sylvia. This isn’t over. It hasn’t even begun.”
“I don’t want it to be over,” I admitted.
“And what do you want?” he asked. “Because I will tell you right now that when I want something—or someone—I pursue it relentlessly and don’t stop until I have possessed it fully. Do you want sweet words and chocolates? You’ll have them. Hand-holding and gentle kisses? I welcome them. But I want so much more, Sylvia, and you need to know that I will have you in my bed.”
My mouth had gone completely dry. The rest of me was hot and wet, and I had to reach out and press my hand against the doorjamb simply to keep from melting onto the floor.
I expected the dark to take hold, my fears to pull me down, and the cold, unforgiving fingers of memory to yank me back into myself and away from this man and his words that were both a seduction and a demand.
But there was no cold, and the only dark came from the night sky, and was bright with stars. That tingle I felt wasn’t fear, it was excitement. And when I met his eyes, I was certain that he could see in mine how much of a miracle he was to me.
“Christ, you tempt me. My fingers itch to take you right now. To strip you bare and just look at you, naked and hot and wet for me. And I will, too. I’m going to touch you. I’m going to stroke every inch of you. I’m going to bury myself deep inside of you. And I’m going to memorize the way you look when you find release in my arms. All of that,” he said as my body went limp and hot under the force of his words. “But not yet. Not tonight.”
He reached out as if to stroke my face, but his fingers hesitated just millimeters from my skin. I sucked in air, well aware of the heat between us, and wishing desperately for even the lightest touch of skin upon skin.
Then he withdrew his hand and looked straight into my eyes. His were inscrutable. Mine, I’m certain, were wild and pleading and just a bit confused. Because with Jackson, everything had flipped. Instead of grabbing control, I’d surrendered it. And that really wasn’t me.
I didn’t understand why—and while that might scare me, what scared me more was the fear that he would go away.
“You want me, too.” It was a statement, not a question, but I answered anyway.
“Yes.” The word seemed too small to encompass so great a need.
“All right, then.” The smile barely touched his mouth, but I saw pleasure light in his face. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. Ten-thirty.”
“Oh.” I blinked at the sudden shift from the seductive to the esoteric. “Okay.” I ran through my schedule, grateful I had no conflicts. Not that it mattered; I would have blown off anything that stood between me and spending the morning with Jackson.
The corners of his eyes crinkled, as if he knew my thoughts. “You’re mine tomorrow,” he said as he brushed a fingertip over my lower lip, and then turned and walked away.
I went inside, so full of light and anticipation that I actually did a little twirl. And I am really not the twirling type.
I peeled off my clothes, and every brush of material against my overheated skin was like a sensual treat. I slid into bed naked, wanting nothing but the sheet between me and my memories of Jackson.
Then I closed my eyes, slid my hand between my legs, and let thoughts of this gorgeous, sexy, enigmatic man carry me off to sleep.
six
A sharp knock at my door awakened me, and I stretched in bed, enjoying the fading memories of some truly spectacular dreams.
Dreams. Not nightmares.
The thought brightened my smile even more. So far, Jackson Steele was proving to be the embodiment of the perfect man. Charming, funny, utterly gorgeous. And despite that whole takecharge vibe, he wasn’t the least bit nightmare inducing.
Pleased, I hummed a little as I tossed on a robe. I didn’t hurry—it wasn’t yet eight on a Saturday morning. Anyone who needed me was just going to have to wait. Still, I called out, “Hang on,” as I tied the sash and walked to the door.
I checked the peephole, but no one was out there. Curious, I opened the door to look back toward the street, only to find a beautifully wrapped box on my doormat. I picked it up and found a simple tag tucked in under the bow. Wear Me.
