Page 37 of Hideaway Heart

“And you don’t want to kiss me now?”

He hesitated just a second too long. “No.”

I stood up. Moved in front of him.

“Kelly.” He spoke my name, but what he meant was,Don’t.

I leaned over and put my hands on his shoulders. Pushed him back against the chair while I straddled his thighs. “Are you sure about that?”

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t push me away, either. His forearms lay on the arms of the chair, his fingers curled over the edge. The fire popped and hissed behind me.

I flattened my palms on his chest and slid them down his stomach, muscles rippling beneath the cotton. I toyed with his belt.

“You should stop,” he told me.

“Ishouldstop?” I challenged. “Or you want me to stop?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Youshouldstop.”

“For my own good?” I laughed softly, putting my hands on the top of his chair, leaning close enough to brush my lips against his jaw. His beard was surprisingly soft.

“Yes. You don’t really want this.”

“I wonder,” I murmured, rocking my hips gently over his, “if it ever occurred to you, or to any man, thatImight know what’s good for me. What I really want.”

His breath drew in sharply.

“My God, what would that be like?” I whispered in his ear. “What would Idowith that kind of freedom?”

“I have a pretty good idea.” His voice was gravelly and thick.

“But you don’t trust me.” I pulled back slightly, looked him in the eye.

“Trust you?”

“To know what I want. You’d rather treat me like a little girl who needs a big, strong man to decide what’s best for her.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Then what’s it about, Xander? Tell me.”

“It’s about honor,” he said. “It’s about your brother and the trust he has in me. It’s about setting aside what I want and doing the right thing.”

“The right thing.” Closing my eyes, I sighed and shook my head. “Okay. Fine. You win.” I went to get off his lap, but his hands gripped my hips, locking me in place.

“Hey.” His voice was gruff, almost angry. “You don’t know how hard this is for me.”

My eyes flicked down to his crotch. “I would, if you’d just relax and kiss me for real.”

“I can’t kiss you for real,” he said, while his hands told a different story, rising to cradle my face. “I fucking can’t.”

Then he pulled me toward him, sealing his lips to mine. For a couple seconds, I was so surprised, I couldn’t even move. But then his tongue slid between my lips, reigniting that spark I’d felt earlier in the bar.

I bunched my fingers into his shirt and held on tight, as if I was afraid he was going to push me away. His hands returned to my hips and set me in motion, rocking my lower body over his. Our mouths opened wider, his tongue growing more aggressive and commanding. I imagined what that tongue might feel like on the most sensitive parts of my body and felt the shock of it all the way down to my toes.

The bulge of his cock was thick and hard between my legs, and I rubbed myself along its solid length. The kiss grew reckless and messy. His mouth moved down my jaw and throat, and he unzipped my hoodie to my belly button.

“Fuck,” he seethed, taking in the thin, low-cut tank top I wore without a bra. He tilted his forehead to my clavicle, and I felt his breath on my skin.“Fuck. I can’t.”