He’d waited so long to kiss her.
He had to force himself to take it steady, to take it slow. He knew she wasn’t ready for a relationship. That she wasn’t ready to think about herself, only her daughter. But he couldn’t help himself. He cupped her face with his hands, promising himself that this was just a kiss, one kiss and no more, but it was hard to remember that when his name was on her lips and her lips were against his mouth.
As her tongue touched his he felt the sudden rush of heat and arousal. The power of it took him by surprise and instinctively he hauled her closer, feeling the eager press of her body against his. He wanted her naked, he wanted to slide his hand over the softness of her skin and discover every part of her, but instead he had to content himself with holding her through the bulk of their winter clothing. It wasn’t enough. He was restricted to a taste, when what he wanted was a feast, and the taste neither satisfied nor soothed. Instead it escalated every feeling inside him, stoking his need from fire to fever. In that moment he knew exactly how they were going to be together. Snow fell steadily, but the cold did nothing to take the edge off the heat. He felt her tremble, felt her hands move to his jacket, seeking, trying to find a way through the layers, feeling the same frustration he did. He moved his hand to her breast but he was hampered by her clothing.
Keeping her mouth on his, she reached for her zip and tugged at it, then caught his hand and moved it to her throat, urged him to touch her. His fingers felt the softness of her skin, the tempting swell of her breast but again he was hampered by clothing and this time also the cold. He felt goose bumps rise on her skin and felt her shiver under his hands. That little tremor penetrated the clouds of arousal, the primal focus that urged him to take it further, take more, take it now.
Into his head came the words she’d spoken to him once. The day she’d told him that Eddie had only ever wanted sex. Nothing more. He hadn’t wanted Mia, or Roxy.
That memory had more of an effect on him than the cold.
He eased away and forced himself to zip up her jacket, even though his hands shook as he did it.
He’d decided long ago that Eddie was a damn fool. And that was the polite version of his feelings. It was important to him, essential, that Roxy knew he wasn’t Eddie. That he wanted more than sex.
He didn’t want her to make a mistake about that.
He had to force himself to take it steady, to take it slow. He knew she wasn’t ready for a relationship. That she wasn’t ready to think about herself, only her daughter. But he couldn’t help himself. He cupped her face with his hands, promising himself that this was just a kiss, one kiss and no more, but it was hard to remember that when his name was on her lips and her lips were against his mouth.
As her tongue touched his he felt the sudden rush of heat and arousal. The power of it took him by surprise and instinctively he hauled her closer, feeling the eager press of her body against his. He wanted her naked, he wanted to slide his hand over the softness of her skin and discover every part of her, but instead he had to content himself with holding her through the bulk of their winter clothing. It wasn’t enough. He was restricted to a taste, when what he wanted was a feast, and the taste neither satisfied nor soothed. Instead it escalated every feeling inside him, stoking his need from fire to fever. In that moment he knew exactly how they were going to be together. Snow fell steadily, but the cold did nothing to take the edge off the heat. He felt her tremble, felt her hands move to his jacket, seeking, trying to find a way through the layers, feeling the same frustration he did. He moved his hand to her breast but he was hampered by her clothing.
Keeping her mouth on his, she reached for her zip and tugged at it, then caught his hand and moved it to her throat, urged him to touch her. His fingers felt the softness of her skin, the tempting swell of her breast but again he was hampered by clothing and this time also the cold. He felt goose bumps rise on her skin and felt her shiver under his hands. That little tremor penetrated the clouds of arousal, the primal focus that urged him to take it further, take more, take it now.
Into his head came the words she’d spoken to him once. The day she’d told him that Eddie had only ever wanted sex. Nothing more. He hadn’t wanted Mia, or Roxy.
That memory had more of an effect on him than the cold.
He eased away and forced himself to zip up her jacket, even though his hands shook as he did it.
He’d decided long ago that Eddie was a damn fool. And that was the polite version of his feelings. It was important to him, essential, that Roxy knew he wasn’t Eddie. That he wanted more than sex.
He didn’t want her to make a mistake about that.
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