own heads if they put effort into finding the handholds to do so. However, after coming face to face with what being in a pit of true, helpless despair felt like, he didn’t scoff anymore. Pulling out of that feeling made climbing Mount Everest look easy in comparison.
He wouldn’t be taking Daralyn anywhere she felt trapped. But the way she kept looking at him, pressing his hand whenever he could hold hers, made his desire to figure things out even stronger. Fortunately, when he reached her house, he could tell without a shadow of a doubt she wanted him to come in.
As they parked at her place, he noted Marcus and Thomas were home. The Mercedes was back, and the lights were on in the house.
After leaving the van and crossing the yard to her house, Rory held out his hand for her keys. He noted the coldness of Daralyn’s fingers before he let her go and opened the door, gesturing her to go on in. She pushed back her fall of silky hair when she moved past him.
As he clicked the door shut, she was laying her purse on the table. He watched her transfer the flowers she’d brought in with her to a vase, and sit it on a side table. Then she stood before it, her gaze resting upon the blooms.
Her stillness, combined with her obvious heightened awareness of him, dictated his next actions. He killed the lights, letting what was coming in through the windows, thrown from the outdoor utility light and the moon, create a silver filter over everything.
She turned partly toward him, her head down, but her peripheral vision on him. Her lips were parted. Her hand had closed into a curl on the table. While her coldness was a warning sign of agitation, other signs showed the heat of attraction.
If he’d been able to walk, he would have come up right behind her, pressed himself against her, kissed her neck, held her close. Let her feel that all of him, his strength, his heart, every bit of his mind, was centered on her. That she didn’t have to be afraid.
He could do the same thing a different way, following his gut down the road he knew they both wanted. His voice was rough but low as he glanced at the large living room window. “Close the blinds.”
She’d worn a pair of white slip-on shoes with lace tops and rubber soles, so as she obeyed, she moved on nearly soundless feet. As she reached for the rod that would twist the blinds closed, she spoke. He heard the intriguing unsteadiness in her voice.
“There’s usually just the occasional driver on the road, who only looks this way for a second. And Thomas and Marcus only have eyes for each other.”
“I want only my eyes on you.”
She finished the task. Then she turned toward him.
“Let’s go into the bedroom,” he said.
He followed her to the threshold. The back window overlooked a field, so he didn’t tell her to close the blinds there, since it was providing some of the light he wanted to use to see her.
“I want the dress off.” He almost said take the dress off, but for where he intended to go in these next few moments, he needed the important distinction. She needed the command, but him saying I want made it different, in the right way.
He had no intention of having sex with her. Hell, though it seemed they’d been headed on that track since that Christmas kiss, the reality was they’d only recently started pursuing this. A kiss, a spanking, a little petting. A hand on her thigh at dinner. This alone might be too soon, but it didn’t feel that way. He wanted to see all of her. He ached to see her.
She gripped the dress, lifted it over her head. As she did, she showed him another simple cotton bra, but this one was pale yellow with a lace edge. She also revealed the curve of her rib cage and flat stomach, the shape of her hip bones, her thighs. She put the dress on a hanger and tucked it into her closet. She took care with everything given to her. He’d never seen her carelessly drop something over a chair, leave something out of place.
Don’t dig into why that is. This is about the here and now, you and her.
Even so, as his gaze coursed over her exposed body, another stark memory invaded. During that summer when