Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk #3) - Samantha Young Page 0,109

was why I’d given him the only thing I could. I loved him in the only way I could without ever saying it.

I’d never said it, I realized, tears burning in my eyes as I laid pressed into his side. I’d never told him I loved him. But he knew. He certainly knew after tonight.

My head rested on his chest, rising and falling with his even breaths. I glanced up at his face, but it was half turned away. Staring at his jaw, at his beard, I could still feel the prickle of it beneath my fingers and lips. I’d trailed sweet kisses all over his handsome face, learning every line and curve like a blind person, drawing him in my mind forever.

His skin was smooth and hot and hard beneath me. My lips and fingertips had moved over the slight hills and valleys where his muscle was tightly roped. For a while, I lost myself in exploring him. Everything else went away as I disappeared in the adventure of his body. I’d kissed the small scar on his right upper rib where a boy had swiped a fourteen-year-old Michael with a broken bottle. I trailed my fingers over a scar on his left leg above his knee I’d never seen before. The question had hovered on my lips but the night wasn’t for my curiosity. It was for Michael.

The memory of him coming in my mouth echoed in a low, deep ripple in my belly. I was slick and wanting between my legs, unable to sleep for the restless need buzzing beneath my skin.

However, panic was writhing over the buzz, overwhelming everything with the fear that despite him saying otherwise, Michael would take my lovemaking to mean something it didn’t.

I wanted my giving to be altruistic, but somehow it was always turned selfish in the end.

Lifting my head slowly, afraid to wake him, I looked over at his bedside alarm clock, the red digits blinking in the dark. It was just past three in the morning. Wow. Hours had passed.

Good. It was good. Michael needed sleep.

However, I couldn’t be here when he woke up in the morning.

Gently, I lifted the hand he had resting on my hip and scooted down until I could place his arm by his side on the bed. Breathing a sigh of relief he hadn’t woken, I attempted to get off the bed without disturbing the mattress too much. I moved as silently as possible, picking up my dress, shoes, and underwear, and I tiptoed into the living room. I blinked against the lights Michael had left blazing and began to dress.

As I was pulling my underwear up, I heard the creak of the floorboards in his bedroom, and my stomach dropped. With a racing heart and trembling hands, I reached for my shoes and then stopped.

I wouldn’t run out on him like a coward.

Michael was awake.

So I had to face him.

I straightened, barefoot but dressed at least, and then he was standing in the doorway. He’d taken the time to pull on a pair of sweatpants.

The sleep still shining in his dark eyes melted away when he realized I was leaving. His accusatory expression singed me.

“You were just going to slip out?” His voice was still hoarse with sleep. “Like a drunken one-night stand?”

I shook my head, hating that he would think that. “Never, Michael.”

“But you were leaving?” He strode into the room, crossing his arms over his chest. I tried not to be distracted by all the beauty that was him, but it wasn’t easy. My body was still strung taut with unfulfilled desire.

I took a step back, knocking over one of my shoes. I glanced down at them and back up at Michael to find him glaring at me in utter disappointment. “I … I thought it would be better if I weren’t here in the morning.”

“Why?” he asked. “Because you know that I know now without a doubt you love me?”

Panic thickened my throat.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” Michael demanded again.

Shaking my head frantically, I wanted to escape. Bending down, I reached for my shoes, but Michael grabbed my arms. I cried out as he pulled me up, his face a mask of fury.

“Tell me,” he said as he shook me gently. “Because if you run out of here without explaining this shit to me … give me the truth, Dahlia.” He let me go, and I could still feel the heat of his hands banded around my biceps. “I