Hold Me Close - Talia Hibbert Page 0,281

it gave him a chance at her, he’d be reckless forever. “What if I told you,” he said, taking another step toward her, “that I’m attracted to you?” Would you want me still? Just to help? Or the way that I want you?

She stilled. He saw her shock, and then, blissfully, the slow dawn of her pleasure. Surprised, uncertain, but unmistakably there, like the first golden rays of sunlight. “Oh,” she murmured.

“Yeah.”

She looked at the bed. It was a sudden, quickly aborted turn of the head, but he caught it, and followed—and noticed that the sheets were a tangled mess. His mind flashed back to the moment he’d first walked in, casting a curious new light on certain events. Like the way she’d leapt up so fast she’d made herself dizzy. If she hadn’t wanted him to see her naked, why had she left the sheets instead of hiding under them?

The possibilities hooked into his flesh, teasing his tortured cock until it hurt. His voice was a growl when he asked quietly, “What were you doing before I came in?”

She stepped back, toward the bed, even though he hadn’t moved. And she didn’t try to put on her clothes. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Sleeping,” she corrected.

“I told you, love. You’re a terrible liar.”

She inhaled, her eyes fluttering shut. “And what happens if I tell you the truth?” When her eyes opened again, they were gentle and hopeless at the same time. “All I can have is sex—just sex. But you’ve had enough of that. You’ve been hurt by that. I won’t hurt you, Zach, and I won’t use you. Not ever.”

His breath caught in his chest. His heart stuttered for a moment, and when it started again, it felt like it was beating for her. Those words, those eyes, the protective note in her voice—careful, she was being so careful with him.

And with herself, too. All I can have is sex, she’d said. Not, All I want.

“You don’t need to worry about me, sunshine,” he told her softly. “I want this. I want you.” When he’d made his promise—when he’d sworn never to touch anyone he didn’t honestly desire—he’d wondered how he’d know for sure that the moment was right. But he shouldn’t have worried. The feelings he had for Rae were about as easy to miss as the fucking sun. She illuminated him.

Sadly, his words didn’t do the same for her. Panic flashed over her face and she stammered “You do? But, Zach, what does that—? I adore you, I do, but I can’t—I can’t be with—”

Maybe she was going to say, I can’t be with anyone. Maybe she was going to say, I can’t be with you. Either way, he couldn’t stand to hear it, so he cut her off. Tried his best to soothe her, because seeing Rae afraid did something awful to his insides. “Don’t freak out. I’m not asking for anything you can’t give. We’re friends, remember? We care about each other. Attraction can come from friendship.” It wasn’t a lie. Attraction could come from friendship for him, and that was where his need for Rae had started.

But friendship wasn’t where it ended.

He watched as she exhaled sheer relief, as her tense shoulders relaxed and her jaw softened. Watched, and kept going. “This won’t change anything. It’s safe,” he murmured. “We’ll call this… we’ll call it a favour, okay?”

Because it was becoming painfully obvious that Rae couldn’t handle anything more than that. And he had a few infuriating ideas as to why—but right now wasn’t the time to interrogate her. Right now, all he wanted was to make her feel good. To prove that the people she cared about weren’t all just waiting to hurt her. And that daring to want things wouldn’t always end in punishment.

Maybe if he showed her often enough, she’d start to believe it.

“A favour,” she repeated under her breath, like the words were an incantation. “As friends. I can do that. We can do that. As long as you promise me—you have to promise me—do you really want this?”

Zach’s chest ached. Rae was so distrustful of tenderness that she couldn’t bear to feel it, couldn’t admit to more than basic lust—yet it was him she worried about. “I promise. Now, don’t ask me again, or I’ll start to think you don’t trust me.”

She didn’t laugh at the gentle joke. Didn’t even crack a smile. She looked so lost standing there, teetering on the edge of something indefinable, something he couldn’t see. And then, in