Truly Madly Deeply Boxed Set

And she would have slept with him anyway. Embarrassment flooded her, cooling her passion faster than an icy shower. “I’m sorry,” she said, standing as she spoke. “But congratulations. You proved your point. I couldn’t have been in love with Peter and I have no self-restraint when it comes to you.” A lot that said about her moral fiber, she thought.

Mike groaned. “That wasn’t the point I was trying to prove.” He leaned back, propping himself up on both elbows.

“Why else pull back? Heaven knows I wouldn’t have stopped you.” Self-loathing filled her voice, directed at both her actions and the question she’d just voiced. He didn’t need to know that his rejection bothered her.

“What happened just now”—he gestured back and forth between them—“that was about you and me. No one else was in the room. No one else was between us.”

“I know,” she whispered, remembering the way she had writhed beneath him. The shame of her wanton response burned inside her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Mike said in a husky voice.

“Like what?” Turning from the heat of his stare, she attempted to straighten her rumpled robe.

“Like you’re afraid of me.”

“I’m not.”

“Aren’t you?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid of what you make me feel,” she admitted. Afraid of who you make me become.

“Don’t be. Because the next time will make this one pale in comparison, I promise.” His eyes raked over her body. Beneath his heated gaze she felt naked and exposed.

He rose at a leisurely pace, a man comfortable with himself and his sexuality.

“There won’t be a next time.” She tightened the sash around her waist, turned and stepped back before he could crowd her personal space.

But he anticipated her reaction and grabbed for the material of her robe. He pulled her backward until she leaned against the hard contours of his body. “Yes, there will. But next time you’ll want me, not just comfort.” His warm breath fanned her ear.

If he only knew how much she wanted him... even more than she’d sought solace in his arms. But she closed her eyes and let his words sink in.

He assumed there’d be a next time. Because she’d been eager and willing, despite his betrayal, he’d assumed all was forgiven. Carly didn’t know who she was more furious with, Mike or herself.

Because she wanted to believe in him. Wanted to trust that he desired more from her than just hot sex. Though it couldn’t change things between them, she needed to believe they shared more than just passion. Because when that passion flared, a living, breathing monster came alive. It brought the past to life and caused her to doubt the present.

He pressed a gentle kiss against her neck. She trembled against the feather-light touch. “Just go, Mike.”

“Will you be all right?” he asked, obviously resigned.

She nodded.

“I thought so.” He gathered his damp clothing from the floor. “You’re strong, Carly Wexler,” he said before disappearing into her bathroom.

“But not strong enough to resist you,” she murmured to the empty room. She leaned against the nearest wall, closed her eyes and forced air into her lungs. She couldn’t resist the man whose omission had hurt her more than her fiancé’s affair. She shook her head and breathed in deeply once more. No sooner had she drawn another breath than the bathroom door swung wide open.

“What are your plans now that you’re officially unengaged?” he asked. He’d changed back into his damp jeans and working boots. His black T-shirt clung to his broad shoulders and back.

“Are you sure you want to go home like that?”

He grinned. “It’s either the wet look or I leave half-naked and barefoot. Your choice.”

When he focused his smile on her, nothing else in the world mattered. She could almost forgive him anything. “Go with the wet look. The neighbors don’t need a free show.” But go, she thought silently.

“Well?” he asked.

“What?”

“Your plans.”