Chapter Twenty

Starr applied a second coat of ruby-red lipstick and fluffed her curls. The sting of the MogulMania rejection had eased to a dull, tolerable throb by the time Grace and Noah had returned earlier that day. As much as she didn’t want to sign the release Jim had already emailed to her, she didn’t have much choice. She certainly wouldn’t force herself somewhere she wasn’t wanted.

Was that what she had done yesterday, forced herself onto a mountain that didn’t want her? Or did she fail because she was weak? Weak and afraid. She was tired of being afraid. Even more, she was tired of running from Spencer, the one person who made her feel safe.

Hearing commotion outside, she peeked through the cottage blinds and watched Grace, Noah, and JJ drive off. She glanced at the house, her gaze stalling on the porch where Spencer stood. Relaxed and in control, he surveyed the ranch.

A feeling of trepidation sprouted in her stomach like an unruly weed. Did he mean what he said about wanting to help her? Did it only cover MogulMania, because it was a business deal and Spencer was very good at business deals? Or would he extend the offer to something else—something else he was very good at?

All this trying to be strong and in control, trying to be something she clearly wasn’t was exhausting. Yet being in control was Spencer’s forte. So why was she fighting it? She was tired of fighting.

One more night, that’s all she wanted. One more night to feel safe.

Spencer would leave soon, return to his big job and his big life in the big city. Fine. But he was here tonight. And as long as he knew she was on board with his no-emotional-attachment mantra, he wouldn’t deny her. So, she’d be clear. She’d make sure he knew she knew the rules: no commitments, no regrets. She laughed to herself. It’s not like he’d put up a fight. It was a win-win. And she’d be safe for one more night.

But how, specifically, should she go about this? Just walk up to him and say… What the heck was she supposed to say? Sleep with me? She wasn’t that bold, not like the women she read about in romance novels, so confident in their skin, naked or otherwise. She’d never told a guy what she wanted.

Whatever. She’d figure it out. But she had to do it now, before she lost the nerve.

As soon as she stepped through the cottage door, Spencer’s eyes trained on her. He watched her approach, a curious look on his face.

She stopped in front of him. “It’s almost dinnertime. We could throw a frozen pizza in the oven.” Frozen pizza. Really sexy, Starr. “Let’s go inside. Are you hungry?” She walked past him and up the back porch steps. He followed.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked, ignoring her question. He looked at her intently, as if trying to gauge from her reaction if she’d be truthful.

“Better. Sort of.”

He seemed satisfied with her answer, and his shoulders relaxed. “So, you said you wanted my help. You know I’d do anything I can.”

Exactly what she wanted to hear. She inadvertently licked her lips. His gaze caught the movement and rested on her lips before moving back up to her eyes.

“So how can I help?” he asked.

She took a deep breath and glanced around, her gaze landing on the big cypress in the front yard. “I was thinking about trees and how strong and solid they are. Safe. And in control. You can’t make a tree move, you know?” She looked at Spencer. “It stands its ground, like literally.”

“Okaaay.” His gaze was even more dubious than his tone.

It was going well. Keep at it.

“But what part of the tree is the safest? The trunk, right? The limbs can be all scary—wiggly and unsecure.” She held out her arms on either side of her body, mimicking branches.

His eyebrows scrunched. She was losing him. She let her arms drop to her sides. What the heck had possessed her to go with a tree analogy? She plowed ahead.

“Trees can be a good thing without their branches… I mean, just because you have a tree in your yard doesn’t mean you have to use the branches or go out on the limbs.”

He blinked but didn’t say a word. She bit her lip. His eyes tracked the motion.

“You know,” she continued. “No going out on limbs. Your whole no emotional commitment thing. I’m okay with it.” Say it, just say it. Close your eyes if you have to.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Do you want to sleep with me tonight?”

…

“Did you hear me?” she whispered. Her eyes stayed shut, tight.

He’d heard something about trees and then his mind had wandered, because surely she couldn’t have said what he thought. “Huh?”

Her eyes popped open, and she stepped back. “Never…never mind.” She placed a hand on her heart as if trying to cover a wound.

Given her reaction, Spencer must’ve heard right. His entire body—every part—jumped to attention. He stepped toward her and grabbed her hand. “Did you… I… What did you say?” He wanted to be sure.

“I can’t say it again.”

God, she was beautiful, and so damn naive.

He turned up her hand and made circles on her palm with his thumb in a slow caress. “Why?” he asked.

“Why can’t I say it again?”

His lips formed a brief pout, a silent no. “You seemed very clear about our last…encounter…being a one-time thing. Why have you changed your mind? Why are you asking me to sleep with you?” Why are we still standing here talking with clothes on?

She closed her eyes again. “I need to feel safe.” Her soft voice wavered. “And I did two nights ago and even last night. You’re good at being strong.” Her eyes opened. They were full of hope, full of trust. “Make me feel safe. Take control.”

The air stilled around him, and he struggled to fill his lungs. Control? Didn’t she realize the power she had over him? Didn’t she know that her every look mesmerized him, her every movement enchanted him?

To hell with control.

He swooped in, claiming her lips with his. Her response was instantaneous and bold. Her lips parted, and their tongues met. He took what she gave and then demanded more, melding his body into hers. His hands covered her hips and gently squeezed, pulling her into him, her body rubbing against his hardness.

She moaned. Good. He wanted her to feel good. He wanted her to feel safe. Safe? What was he thinking? She didn’t need safe.

She was strong and fearless. And he’d prove it to her.

He pulled back and waited until her eyes focused on his.

“What do you want?” he asked. He bent his head and nibbled her bottom lip. “You need to tell me. Please.” He wanted her to tell him exactly what to do. He would give her the world if she asked.

“Tell me,” he said between kisses. “Tell me what you want.”

She stared at him, confusion morphing into awe and anticipation. He nodded, encouraging her. She pushed him back until he bumped against the porch railing.

She wove her fingers through his hair, pulling him in. A request—demand—for more. He gave it, capturing her lips with his, the lengths of their bodies molded together, a hunger building inside him. He could imagine kissing her like this every hour of every day.

“What else?” He barely breathed the words. He captured her butt and squeezed, pulling her closer. He skimmed his hands up her waist, under her shirt, his fingers splaying across her rib cage, then inching up until his fingertips touched the lacy fabric of her bra. He wanted to explore every inch of her, feel her body against his, skin against skin. But not until she told him to. “What else?” he whispered. “You’re in control. Tell me.”

Her hands molded to his shoulders. His fingers played along her bra line.

“Tell me,” he insisted. “Out loud.”

She hesitated, and her blue doe eyes, steeped with passion, held his. Finally, she spoke. “Touch me.” She traced her fingertips lightly over her breasts. “Here.”

In an instant, he unclasped her bra and slid his hands underneath to stroke her silky skin. She moaned, and he captured her lips in a kiss.

He needed more.

He lifted her shirt and hovered his lips over her breast. Close enough that she’d feel his breath on her chest. He lifted a brow, waiting, convinced his control would crack at any moment.

She nodded. “Yes, kiss me.”

Her words shredded any last bit of his control. He suckled hard. God, she was sweeter than peaches and cream. Starr inhaled sharply, cradling his head in her hands, her fingers raking through his hair and holding him close. He turned his attention to the other breast and lavished it with similar devotion.

He moved back up and kissed her neck. She shifted against him, her lips trailing down his cheek. He would never tire of this, not in a million years. He wanted all of her. He needed all of her. But only if she wanted it, too. “What next? Tell me.”

“Touch me everywhere, Spencer,” she whispered in his ear. “Take me to bed.”

He pulled back, his hands resting on her hips. “Are you sure?”

Dear God, he hoped she was sure.

She nodded. “I’m sure.”