She didn’t see how this could last, how it could turn into something real—how the gorgeous, incredible man from the amazing and famous family could ever look at a normal woman with a ten-month-old child and see a future. But, hadn’t she waited so long to feel this way? Not just a year and a half, but her entire life? For a man who made her want like this, who made her crave with every last fiber of her being?
Last night, she’d let herself have a taste. One perfect, wonderful taste of Dylan. Why couldn’t she have one more? Especially when he was right that she was only human.
Too human to know how to keep resisting him tonight...
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I want to kiss you, Grace. I’ve wanted to kiss you a hundred times tonight. Every time you smile. Every time you laugh. Every time your body brushes up against mine.”
It would have been easiest for both of them if he simply took what he wanted by leaning in and taking that kiss. One kiss without her permission and their incredible chemistry would take over.
But he hadn’t made it easy on her from the first, and she knew he wouldn’t cop to doing that now. What do you want? was what he was asking her. And he was waiting for her answer with the patience that he must have honed from hours working in his boathouse building beautiful boats with his magical hands and brain.
Grace wasn’t nearly as patient, though. “I’ve wanted to kiss you, too, all those times.”
She didn’t know who moved first tonight, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was how sweet it was to let pleasure sizzle through her as their lips touched. All night long, they’d been leading up to this. To this kiss. To his hands on her and hers on him. She knew that now—finally accepted it as inevitable.
Kissing Dylan wasn’t about weakness, wasn’t about not having enough self-control. On the contrary, it was about being strong enough to let herself have what she wanted.
What she needed.
Her heart jumped in her chest and she lost her breath as he loved her mouth so tenderly. So seductively. Locking her arms around his neck, she all but melted against him, and knew from the low groan he gave just how much he liked having her pliant and aroused against him.
“Soft.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, and then more down across her cheek. “You’re so soft.” She lifted her chin so that he could nibble at the underside of her jaw. “You smell so good.” He ran his lips down the sensitive skin of her neck, nibbling at her between kisses. “You taste so sweet.” His hands were warm on the small of her back, warmer still as he slipped them just beneath the fabric to rest on her bare skin. But instead of taking the next step and pulling her shirt off over her head, he said, “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”
She loved that he was a man of such deep contrasts. So sweet, so gentle…and yet so full of passion and desire. Desire that she could feel him barely holding back, barely controlling.
All because he wanted her with the same ferocity as she wanted him.
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
Grace felt hot and tingly beneath her clothes. And from the first moment she’d seen him, she’d wondered about what he had beneath his. Any woman with a beating heart would have. Now was her chance to stop wondering and find out.
Forcibly pushing away any lingering thoughts that she was forgetting all of her hard-won lessons and the vows she’d made not to repeat her mistakes, she reached for the hem of his shirt and quickly pulled it up. He was more than happy to help, drawing back and lifting his arms so that she could take it all the way off.
Grace obviously wasn’t a virgin. Not even close, if that slightly wild year she’d had back in college counted. But…oh my…there wasn’t a man alive who could have prepared her for the way Dylan Sullivan looked without his shirt. Tanned and muscular. Lean and honed from daily sails and woodworking.
Perfect.
She didn’t think, couldn’t think anymore, could only lay her hands flat on his chest. His skin was so warm and his muscles jumped beneath her fingertips as she explored his incredible male beauty. She was a terrible painter—putting words together was the only art she’d ever been good at—but if she could draw, she’d want him to model for her.
But it wasn’t enough just to look, to touch. She had to put her mouth on him, too. Her lips had only just touched his shoulder when a low, rough sound rumbled from his chest. She barely had a chance to slick her tongue against him when she found herself lying back against the arm of her couch with Dylan’s hands in her hair and his kisses stealing her breath.
Every taste she took of him, instead of sating her the way she’d expected, only made her more ravenous. Every kiss they shared only made her want more. More of his tongue tangling with hers. More of his teeth nipping into her lower lip. More of his heady need for her.
She’d been wanted before, but never like this. And never by a man so beautifully put together or so in tune with how to give a woman pleasure. It was perfectly natural to fall deeper and deeper into his kiss, and to relish how good his hands, big and rough from working with wood and rope and tools all day, felt moving over her skin. The way he was gentle and yet powerful all at the same time—barely skirting that edge of control—made Grace melt into his touch.
Loving the heavy weight of his body over hers, she instinctively wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer. She wanted more. More. More. But then, suddenly, she felt him shift farther away, rather than closer.
As she blinked up at him through eyes gone blurry with lust, while he ran his hands over her face, shoulders, and then the full lengths of her arms until he reached her hands, where he threaded their fingers together, she thought she knew why. Dylan wasn’t stopping because he didn’t want her. She could see, could feel, just how much he did.
The reason he’d reined them both in was because he was afraid of pushing her too far.
Because he cared.
He could easily have continued to seduce her with kisses and caresses until she was too mindless to be able to think at all. Until she wasn’t able to make choices, only soak in sensation. Until it was too late for her to realize that they were crossing the line between feeling blissfully alive and feeling regretful.
But the truth was that stopping here, stopping now, when they hadn’t gone any further than two teenagers necking on the couch—that was something she’d definitely regret. Especially if this was her one and only chance to allow herself the wonder of Dylan’s touch.