When Hearts Collide - By James, Kendra Page 0,61

His words were more than a question; they were a statement. Why? Did he want her to stay? For how long?

He tipped her head, then brushed his lips against hers. She felt as if she’d been stroked with butterfly wings. Her heart thumped erratically, and a shudder shook her shoulders, sending tiny electric shocks along her spine. She gasped. How could such a tiny touch cause such havoc to her body?

Pearce held her face in both hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. The cobalt blue depths smoldered with unreleased passion. “Do you want to leave?”

He must have seen the answer in her eyes. A strangled moan came from deep in his throat. He pulled her closer, then his lips were on hers. These were no butterfly’s wings. This time his lips took possession, demanding a response.

Her arms slid around his neck and returned his kiss with all the passion she’d been holding back her entire life. His hair felt like silk against her skin, and the musk of his aftershave made her feel as if she’d drunk a bottle of a potent wine. She closed her eyes and inhaled Pearce’s essence until dizziness overcame her and her knees buckled.

“I don’t want you to leave.” His voice was husky with passion. “I need you. I want you to stay. Let me be there for you.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. All her life, other then her sister and Gladys, she’d never had anyone who’d really been there for her. Did he mean it, or was it just for now? Suddenly, Molly didn’t care any more. She needed him, needed to feel his arms around her. Molly leaned into him.

The heat of his eyes and his body thawed the wall of ice she’d tried to build around her heart. Now it was melting, one block of ice at a time, as a blazing fire swept through her. Under the thin cotton of his shirt, she felt the rapid pounding of his heart. “I don’t want to go.”

“Oh, Molly,” he said, his voice a low growl as he pulled her closer. His eyes were smoldering black embers. His hand slid to frame her face as his fingertips caressed the tender vee of her throat. A shiver of excitement raced from the top of her spine to the end of her toes with each finger’s stroke. His head tilted toward her. She felt the heat of his breath before his lips touched tentatively on hers. Her own lips parted, eager and welcoming.

Finally, gasping for breath, their lips eased a fraction of an inch apart. They clung to each other, hormones raging.

“Come with me.”

Molly didn’t have to be asked twice. How could she refuse? She glanced at the peacefully sleeping child. Her breathing, now even and unlabored, reassured her Gracie was no longer having trouble breathing. Molly followed Pearce along the hall like a child drawn to the Pied Piper’s magic flute.

Her feet pattered, as soft as the tap of cat’s paws on the thick carpet, not even making enough noise to bring her to her senses. Pearce pushed his bedroom door open and she followed him into the darkened room.

The drapes were open, and the soft gleam from the full moon was all that relieved the shadows. She made out the muted charcoal shapes of furniture. She didn’t need the light on to know what the room looked like. It had preoccupied her dreams since the first night she’d spent in this house—dreams filled with Pearce holding her in his arms, caressing her with his kisses, possessing her body with his. His arms reached out for her, and she let her body mold to his.

Chapter 15

When Molly awakened, the room remained dark. She stretched her hand out to the other side of the queen-sized bed. It was empty. She lay still, staying in that space of dreams between REM sleep and wakefulness, where she could linger with her imagination, a soft, sensual, satisfying place far from the harsh realities of life.

Though he’d gone some time in the night, Molly still felt the pressure of his body against hers. And when she inhaled, the scent of their lovemaking tantalized her senses. If she kept her eyes closed, she could imagine his lips on hers, his hands caressing her every curve...

No man had ever brought her to the heights Pearce had. The storm, once conceived, had turned into a cyclone, taking its prisoners on an escalating spiral that hadn’t subsided until they were both exhausted