Chapter 22

“You’ve had a shock.” Russ’s voice was a deep, soothing rumble. “You’re exhausted. Come on. I’ll take you back to bed.” He grasped Athena’s hand and led her out of the room with its disturbing photos and into the dark hall.

A hundred thoughts fired at once. Her unease at being in Angus Crawford’s cottage, the discovery of the shocking photos, Russ’s nearness…all blended together in a continuous, confusing blur.

“Come on.” He tugged her hand. “It’s been a long night. We’ll deal with the photographs in the morning after we’ve had some rest.”

She stumbled after him down the dark hallway.

“Here we are.” He released her hand and reached over her and flipped a switch on the wall. The ceiling light blazed, illuminating her bedroom. The sheets on the bed were twisted in a tangle. A pillow lay on the floor where she’d tossed it in her frustration at not being able to sleep. Her sweatpants were crumpled in a heap on a chair.

He picked up the pillow and set it on the bed and straightened the sheets. “Climb in.” He nodded at the bed. “I’ll cover you.”

As if she were an obedient child, she shuffled to the bed and sat on the edge.

“Attagirl. Now lie down and relax.”

She lay back and rested her head on the pillow.

He tugged up the covers, smoothing them under her chin. “I’ll get you a glass of water, and then you should try and sleep.” He strode out of the room.

Turning on her side, she drew her knees to her chest, as image after image of the disturbing photographs flashed through her mind like an old movie reel. She squeezed her eyes closed, but shutting her eyes didn’t stop the images. The brush of a gentle hand on her shoulder startled her, and she sat up with a start.

For the first time she noticed what he was wearing…a pair of red-and-black striped, silk boxers.

Nothing else.

Even in her state of numbed shock, a part of her melted. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes heavy lidded from sleep. He was all virile male. Sweet mother of God. He was so close his enticing masculine scent filled the air. If she shifted her hand a couple of inches, she’d touch him, feel his heated skin. Another inch closer, and she could run her fingers through the silky dark hair covering his chest and arrowing in an intriguing vee down his flat abdomen, disappearing into the waistband of his boxers. His cute red-and-black striped underwear.

Oh man.

Russ handed her a glass. “Drink this. You’ll feel better.”

“Th…thanks.” She grasped the glass with shaking hands and sipped. The cold water slid down her parched throat like silk, and she gulped again. Once the glass was empty, she handed it back.

Their fingers grazed, and their gazes met and held.

The scratching of rain pelting the window and the creaks and groans of the gale-force wind gusting against the house were loud in the ensuing silence.

He tore his gaze from hers and backed up two steps as if he were afraid.

Of what? Her? Of the heated desire percolating through the room, thickening the air, making breathing impossible, let alone clear, rational thinking?

“Goodnight.” He glanced at his watch. “Or I suppose I should say, good morning. It’s almost dawn.” He yawned. “I’m beat. I hope you’re able to sleep.” He turned to leave.

“Russ.” She prayed he didn’t hear the aching hunger in the thin husk of her voice.

He paused by the door. His dark brows arched. “What is it?”

“Please don’t leave. I don’t want to be alone.” She bit hard on her tongue to prevent any more foolish words escaping.

A slew of emotions clouded his hazel eyes. His jaw worked, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his strong throat.

“Please.” The damning word spilled out, drowning the inner voices warning her this was a mistake. One she’d regret. “I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight.”

Never taking his gaze from hers, he set the empty glass on the dresser and strolled to the bed. “Are you sure?” His voice was a throaty rasp, as if the sound came from deep in his chest.

She bit her bottom lip. Was she sure? Hell no. She was terrified. Of him. Of her strong feelings for him. Of where this—whatever this was—could lead. But she didn’t want to be alone. Of that she was certain. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He nodded, but still didn’t budge.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into eons.

She held her breath.

He perched on the edge of the mattress, his body stiff and rigid. The veins in his arms bulged, his hands fisted at his sides.

A foot of empty bed separated their bodies, but the distance might as well have been a mile.

She drew in a shaky breath, and then another, and another.

Anticipation, expectation, doubt, and fear hung thick and heavy in the air.

Would he make a move?

Would she?

Should she?

****

This is a mistake!

The warning blazed through him like a lightning bolt. He wanted her all right. Damn straight he did. She drove him crazy with her beseeching blue bedroom eyes. He couldn’t remember desiring a woman so much. Kissing her sweet lips on the beach, tasting her, breathing her in, had damn near brought him to his knees. And he wanted more.

The cells in his body had demanded he deepen the kiss and take what he so desperately wanted, but somehow, he’d dug deep and found the strength to release her and step away. The hardest thing he’d ever done.

Bar none.

Only a crazy man would have stopped kissing her. But he had. He’d lifted his mouth from hers and backed away, and nearly bitten his tongue off biting back a groan of regret. But that was his libido talking. Once he wasn’t kissing her, and cool air settled between them, his brain started functioning. Taking her on the cold sand would have been wrong in so many ways. She was vulnerable and wanted comfort and reassurance, not raw primal sex.

Nothing had changed since that kiss on the beach. If anything, she was more vulnerable. Who wouldn’t be after finding those photos? He clenched his hands to stop from reaching for her.

The bed shifted, and the mattress springs creaked. “Russ?”

Her soft voice washed over him like liquid honey, adding fuel to the fire burning deep in his gut. “What is it?”

The bed creaked again, and she sat up, leaning her back against the pillows. “Would…would you kiss me again?”

Heat streaked through his body like liquid fire. Had the world shifted on its axis? Had the heavens realigned? Had he heard her right? “What?”

“I…I asked you to kiss me.”

The old saw was wrong. Lightning could strike twice in the same place. Miracles did happen. She wanted him to kiss her. Oh man. He was a fool if he gave in to his desires. He’d regret kissing her, but what red-blooded man could resist? Knowing what he was about to do was wrong, no matter which way he sliced it, he shifted closer and slipped his hand behind her neck. Lowering his head, he breathed in the sweet fragrance of her skin and claimed her mouth.

At the first brush of her lips, heat streaked through him like lightning. He sank into the kiss, teasing her mouth open with his tongue. His blood thickened and pooled low in his belly. His limbs grew heavy, and his breath rasped in and out. He drew her nearer until her breasts flattened against the hard wall of his chest. Alarm bells clamored through him in a frantic refrain. Kissing her, touching her, wanting her, was a mistake. But in that moment, he couldn’t stop.

But then he did.

He broke off the kiss. Even more unbelievable, he spoke the words guaranteed to ruin any chance of kissing her again. “We need to stop before we do something we’ll regret.”

“You’re right.” She slid her soft fingers through his chest hair.

He sucked in a sharp breath and placed his hand over hers, halting her teasing touch. “I…I can’t think when you touch me.” Think? Oh, he was thinking all right, just not with his brain. He blew out a ragged breath. “I…I want to do the right thing, but I can’t, not…not when you’re so close.”

“Just this once, don’t be an Eagle Scout.” She stroked his cheek. “I need you. I want to forget that room and those awful pictures.” She kissed his chin, her mouth soft and warm against his skin. “Let’s forget the world and what’s right or wrong and just enjoy this moment.”

His breath gusted out in a rush of air. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? He was ready. More than ready. But that annoying little voice in what was left of his functioning brain pinged an alarm, and he opened his damn mouth…again. “We’re not doing this because you want to forget those photos. You don’t need me for that. A sleeping pill would work just as well.” He pulled back, putting space between them.

She studied him with wounded eyes.

Struggling to stick to his resolve, he rolled out of the bed and stood, keeping his back to her.

“Russ?”

He didn’t want to look, tried his damnedest not to turn around, but he was flesh and blood and infinitely weak. So damn weak. He turned.

She met his gaze. “Make love with me.”

The floor dropped out from beneath his bare feet. He sank back down on the bed and reached for her.

He was in deep, deep trouble.