Holiday In the Hamptons (From Manhattan with Love 5)

“I don’t want to have sex on the stairs, and that’s what will happen if you walk up the stairs in front of me.”

They made it upstairs, stumbling and laughing, and fell onto his bed, their bodies lit by moonlight.

He touched her with skilled, practiced hands, every move slow and drawn out, designed to pull maximum pleasure from the moment. It was agonizingly intimate and totally different from anything they’d shared before.

The darkness was filled with soft sounds and low murmurs. He wanted and demanded everything, and she gave him all that and more, and when she finally reached the peak she was afraid she might shatter.

Afterward they lay there, close, eyes locked, her legs trapped by his.

He ran the pad of his thumb over her forehead. “I’d forgotten your scar. You never did tell me how you got it.”

She shrugged. “Fell into a tree.”

“Yeah? Because you seem pretty competent walking around whenever I watch you. And lately I watch you a lot.”

“I was fighting.”

“Why were you fighting?”

“It felt like more fun than doing a boring English assignment.” She saw the look in his eyes and sighed. It was typical of him to know there would have been a reason. He looked for good in people. It was part of the man he was. “Someone was mean to Harriet.”

“So you leaped in and defended your sister.”

“His name was Johnny Hill. He was captain of the football team and a real bully. He made her cry. No on

e makes my sister cry.”

“So you were stepping in front of her, the way you did with me this evening.”

It was true, and it made her realize that she was in deep. It made her stomach lurch to contemplate how deep. If there had been a life preserver handy she would have grabbed it. “So what if I did?”

He slid his hand behind her neck and took her mouth. “You care.”

“Maybe I do.” Admitting it felt scary. Admitting it meant stripping away armor and making yourself vulnerable.

“And you care about your sister. You care enough to protect her.” His fingertips gently traced her scar. “I think that makes you Good Girl Fliss.”

“The school didn’t think so. I was suspended for a while, which meant I couldn’t watch out for Harriet. I was more careful after that.” She changed the subject, preferring not to dwell on what was happening with her feelings.

“No more fights?”

“I kept them off the school premises.” She turned on her side, her hand on his chest. “Now it’s your turn. Show me your scars, Carlyle.”

“I don’t have scars. At least, not on the outside.”

“And on the inside?” She felt his hand stroke her hair.

“I never stopped thinking about you, Fliss. You’ve always kept a piece of my heart.”

His words stole her breath and sliced through her. It made her think about all the time they’d lost and what might have been. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“I hurt you, too. We both made mistakes. I think it’s called being human.”

“I should have said more. Opened up more.”

“When a person has spent their whole life putting up barriers, it’s difficult to trust people enough to lower them.”

And suddenly it seemed important to make him understand.