She shook her head. “I really don’t think—”
He silenced her with a finger across her lips. “The problem is that you think entirely too much. Sometimes it’s better just to feel,” he said, leaning closer. “To experience. To surrender...”
The last words were murmured against her lips. And all of Blair’s best intentions evaporated in the heat the kiss generated. She wrapped her arms around his neck, ignoring the mocking little voice that chided her for being so easily charmed by this man.
His hands began to wander, sliding across the silky pantsuit, inching into territory he hadn’t explored before. For the first time, Blair knew what it was like to have his hands on her breasts, on her thighs. And for the first time, she allowed herself to touch in return. She slid a hand lingeringly across his solid chest and down to his flat, firm stomach. And then she dropped her hand to his knee and slid it slowly upward. His thighs were rock-solid, she noted with a thrill.
He would feel so strong and powerful against her, she thought, her mind filling with images that made her have to swallow a groan. She had no
doubt that he would make her feel things she had never felt before. Things she had a sudden deep, desperate craving to feel.
Scott shifted his weight and Blair found herself on her back beneath him, resenting the layers of clothing that still separated them.
She wasn’t entirely oblivious to their surroundings, though such details occupied only a small part of her mind. Her voice emerged as a breathy whisper. “Scott?”
“Mmm?” He had his face buried in the hollow of her throat, his lips moving against the pulse that hammered so erratically there.
Almost involuntarily, she arched into his hand as he slowly kneaded her right breast, his talented thumb rotating against her nipple. She nearly forgot what she had intended to say. “What about...your housekeeper?” she asked, remembering. “Your assistant?”
He scooted a couple of inches downward, bringing his mouth closer to her breasts. “They’re both in bed,” he assured her. “They consider this end of the house my private quarters, and they won’t come in without my permission.”
Which meant she and Scott had complete privacy. She couldn’t use his staff as an excuse to bring this to an end. She would have to come up with another one.
The problem was, she thought as Scott kissed the soft skin just above her low scoop neckline, she didn’t want it to end.
“Blair?”
She had to clear her throat to speak. “Yes?”
“My room is just down the hall.”
She went very still, knowing she could no longer be a passive participant. Scott was asking her to make a choice—stay and pursue this to its natural conclusion or bring it to an end and have him drive her home.
She knew all the reasons she should choose the latter. There were many of them, and she had recited them to herself enough times to have them permanently engraved on her mind.
It couldn’t go anywhere. Scott wasn’t interested in long-term relationships, and he wasn’t the type of man she wanted to be involved with, anyway. He couldn’t stay long in one place, and she wasn’t the type to wait patiently at home. She had a child to consider, and he had no responsibilities at all—at least, none that he seemed to take seriously. He was reckless and adventurous, she was careful and organized. There were so many reasons they were wrong for each other that she could spend the rest of the night listing them.
She could think of only one reason to stay—because she wanted him so badly her toenails ached.
Never in her life had she indulged in a one-night fling, and she had no reason to believe this would be anything more. She didn’t approve of them, didn’t trust them, didn’t think she could give so much of herself without an emotional involvement that could only hurt her when it ended. Lovemaking wasn’t casual for her, and it wasn’t recreational. It was momentous.
So did she really want to take that step now, with Scott?
He had lifted his head and was studying the emotions playing across her face. “Is it so difficult a decision for you?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” she answered simply.
“Why?”
Was he accustomed to women who expected nothing from him beyond a night of pleasure? Did he really think it should be that easy? “Because I’m afraid,” she admitted.
“Of me?”
“Of what I could feel for you...if I stop being careful.”
His face softened. His eyes were warm when he cupped her cheek in his hand. “You don’t think I’m afraid of the same thing? Of feeling too much for you?”
She imagined her dubious silence was answer enough for that improbable question.