Page 59 of Into These Eyes

I poke him again, but I may as well be poking a rock.

“Last time, you told me I was turning you on.”

“I did not ,” I gasp. “There’s no way—”

“Oh, yeah, you did. Then you tried to climb me like a tree.”

“Now that , I know, is bullshit.”

His body hitches against my side as he chuckles. “Alright, I might’ve exaggerated that part, but you were very hands-on.”

Even though I don’t remember, I’m sure he’s right. I don’t have to tell him he’s turned me on tonight. He’s felt it for himself. Tasted it.

After our ride pulls up and we buckle in, I ask, “What else have you conveniently forgotten to tell me about that night?”

He grins across the space between us, the streetlights flashing a spark in his eyes every time we pass beneath one.

“Well,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, “it was more fun than it is right now.”

My mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”

He places his hand on the middle seat between us. “Because you were sitting here.”

My heart thuds. Is it possible to be jealous of the drunk woman who pressed herself up against him?

“And then what happened?” I can’t help but ask.

He raises an eyebrow. “If you want to know, we’ll have to re-enact it.”

I stare at the challenge in his eyes for a moment. He’s too damn sexy to resist, and the worst thing is, I think he’s utterly unaware of that fact. God, I want to kiss him so badly.

As fast as I can, I unbuckle my belt and slide over to the middle, a warning ding coming from the front of the car.

I catch the driver’s disapproving glare in the rearview mirror when Gavin reaches across me and snaps my seatbelt into place.

Looking straight ahead, I give myself a minute to adjust to the heat of the entire length of his body pressing against my side. All that pent up tension he created beneath the table comes flooding back with a vengeance. With his amused eyes on mine, I ask, “And then what happened?”

“You rested your head on my shoulder.”

I bet I did. A girl would have to be crazy to be in this position and not cozy up to him. So, I do just that.

While contemplating what I should do next, I remember I don’t have to. He’s in control of every single moment right now. And I love it.

“And then?” I breathe, eager for his next instructions.

He slides my hand onto his stomach. “Then I had to hold you like this to stop you roaming all over me.” He places his palm on my forearm and caressing my skin with slow circles.

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” I murmur.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Removing his hand, he gives me permission to roam all over him. Instead, I pull away a little so I can look into his eyes, then I rest my palm against his jaw, run my fingertips over his beard and murmur, “Does this feel nice?”

“Having you touch me anywhere at all feels fucking amazing.”

“Oh.” I let a slow smile spread across my face.

“Yeah, oh .” Sinking his fingers into my hair, he eases my head back to his shoulder.

I snuggle in, then, starting at the hollow of his throat, I gently glide a fingertip down his skin until I encounter a button.

Over the soft fabric of his shirt, I keep going, exploring every rise and dip of his muscled stomach.

As I move a little lower, my elbow bumps over his belt buckle, and abruptly stops against something thick, hard and hot. “Did that happen, too?” I whisper.

“Yeah,” he admits on a broken syllable.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to imagine the torment I put him through that night.

He’d wanted me then, too, and could easily have taken advantage that night.

Clearly, my body had been telling him to go for it.

But he hadn’t. Not because he didn’t want to.

Because he was with me that night for one reason only.

To keep me safe, to protect me. Even if it was from my own stupid self.

“Okay.” He moves my hand to his waist and clamps down on my forearm. “I think maybe this position is much safer. Speaking of which …”

I wait, and when he doesn’t continue, I lift my head and search his eyes. Easing closer, he presses his lips to my ear. Even before his voice rumbles through me, shivers of pleasure run down my spine.

“Do we need to make a stop … to get condoms? I’m clean, but … I know you wouldn’t want to get pregnant … just yet.”

Just yet? My heart hammers loud and fast. Is he already thinking about the future? A future with me?

“No, I … I’ve got that under control,” I manage to answer.

He closes his eyes, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths, as if he’s trying to calm himself.

“Gavin? What is it?”

His eyes snap open, locking onto mine. “That’ll be a first for me.”

I squeeze his waist. “Me too.”

Nuzzling his nose into my neck, he slides a hand beneath the hem of my dress. When he’s halfway up my thigh, the car slows to a stop in front of my house.

After he helps me out, he takes my hand, laces our fingers, and walks me to front door.

“What’s been the best part of the night for you so far?” he asks.

Digging my keys from my handbag, I think about it for a moment. “Actually, there were two. Dessert, being my second favourite.”

He gives me a devilish grin as I unlock the door. Once we’re on the other side of the threshold, my heart beats like a hummingbird’s wings. We’re finally alone. No excuses. No distractions. Nothing but us. And being alone with him like this, suddenly fills me with nerves.

In the dim light cast by the floor lamp, he slips my handbag from my shoulder, places it on the side table and lays his jacket over the arm of the couch.

When he strides toward me, I brace myself for the onslaught I’m sure is coming. I wait for him to crush his mouth to mine and haul me into the bedroom.

Instead, he gently takes my hands. “And what’s your favourite part about tonight?”

I tighten my hold on him, our eyes locked. “Coming home with you.”

He stands motionless for a moment, then a full-blown smile lights up his face. “You and your perfect compliments. Come here.”

He tugs on my hands, forcing me to take the step that lands me right in his personal space. Brushing my hair over my shoulder, he tucks loose strands behind my ear in such a delicate, loving gesture, I sway closer.

Cupping my face, he gazes deep into my eyes.

“Coming home with you, living with you, talking with you, touching you, holding you, kissing you … all of it … I can barely believe it’s real.

” He glances off to the side and shakes his head on a deep sigh.

When he meets my eyes again, they’re shining bright.

“Sometimes, I wake up in the dark and think I’m still trapped in that cell, that all of this is a dream.

That you’re a dream. For those few seconds, I feel like I’m being swallowed by darkness … and I want it to swallow me.”

Tears prick at my eyes. The depths of this man overwhelm me. But it’s the fact that he tells me, without an ounce of shame, what those depths are that leaves me in awe.

Placing a hand on the side of his neck, I graze my thumb along his jawline, and it’s not lost on me that this is how he comforted my mother in her last moments. “Don’t let it swallow you, Gavin. I’m right here. I’m real.”

Dropping his forehead to mine, he whispers, “I know, J. God, do I know.”

He pulls me into his embrace, and I hold onto him, absorbing his warmth and comfort, allowing myself to feel cherished and protected. He’s not pouncing on me like I expected. He’s surprising me, taking it slow, showing incredible restraint.

“Remember the day you came to the caravan, dropped a bombshell, and I held you like this?” he asks, his voice rough with emotion beside my ear.

“You were so kind and patient. And sweet. And I didn’t deserve any of it.”

“Yes, you fucking did.”

I smile against his chest. “And I remember your heart … beating so fast. Too fast. Like it is now.”

A low rumble travels through his body and into mine.

“That’s because,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers up my spine, “I had to restrain myself from kissing you here.” He places a soft kiss below my earlobe, and goosebumps erupt across my skin.

“And here.” He trails kisses down the side of my neck, the soft tickle of his beard mingling with the warmth and pressure of his lips.

Skipping over the material of my halter neck, he presses barely-there kisses along my exposed shoulder.

“And here.” I quake in his arms, the ache between my legs becoming so intense a soft groan escapes my throat.

Then the warmth of his body vanishes and he’s on one knee before me, his hot palm on the back of my calf coasting down to my ankle. As I lift my foot, I slide my fingers into his thick hair.

“You’re always taking care of me,” I sigh, letting relief wash through me as the first shoe comes off. “The dustpan and paper towels …”

He looks up at me. “You liked that?”

“So much,” I breathe.

His eyes glint in the dim light as my other foot eases to the cool floorboards.

I wait for him to rise, but his hands drift up the backs of my calves, his fingertips lingering behind my knees, his gaze locked with mine.

He’s so incredibly beautiful like this, all raw emotion and vulnerability. And desire.

“This is how I wanted to take off your underwear that night.”

Breath rushes into my lungs on a gasp. With a torturously slow touch, his warm palms skim the backs of my thighs, his fingertips caressing my flesh as they rise higher and higher. The anticipation alone drenches my lace panties and curls my fingers around the short strands of his hair.

A quiet groan vibrates from my throat when his fingers reach their destination.

Slipping beneath the fabric, he cups my bare backside, exploring the contours, kneading and stroking until my eyelids drift to half-mast. I don’t know what’s hotter.

The way he’s touching me, or the hunger in his eyes while he does it.