Reaching up, she clasped his face in her hands, her breath catching. She tried and failed to slow it down, and then she was arching against him, crying out as his mouth covered hers. He shuddered, his fingers pressing into her so that she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.
For a moment she lay against him in the half-light, her face buried in his chest, her muscles still gripping him, clenching and unclenching like a fist.
As his arm shifted against her back she felt a small pinch of regret. Not for what had happened here in this book-filled room. The sex had been good. In fact, she’d had no idea it could be that incredible. And Charlie was gorgeous—he knew how to touch, the pressure needed, how to change pace. He had made her pleasure his pleasure. Even now she could feel him deep inside her.
How could she regret that?
No, she regretted what hadn’t happened. There were so many different ways to find pleasure, and she wanted to try them all with this man. Wanted to feel his weight on hers, to watch his eyes narrow with hunger as she straddled his body, his hands at her waist, holding her down...
A flint sparked inside her. She wanted to bend over on this sofa and feel him reach underneath her, to stroke the ache between her thighs.
She breathed out unsteadily. Her body felt waterlogged. She wanted to stay here for ever, pressed against the heat of his skin, with his hand twisted in her hair, and for a moment she let herself enjoy the feeling of intimacy, of skin on skin, and the comforting solidity of his body.
His lips brushed against her hair and she felt him withdraw, straightening away from her. She felt his gaze on her naked body, and suddenly her heart was racing.
Even in full sunlight it was impossible to read his expression. Here in the darkening room she could hardly make out his eyes. But maybe that was a good thing.
‘What is it?’ she said, hoping that the sudden thumping of her heartbeat wasn’t audible to him.
‘I was just thinking how very beautiful you are.’
It was the kind of thing lots of men said before sex—over dinner, in the pub, leaning in to shout it above the music in some club.
He hadn’t.
Not so many of them said it afterwards.
And yet he had.
She glanced down her legs, dangling either side of his hips. It was that or look at him.
‘You don’t have to say that now.’
She didn’t need any more reasons to think that Charlie was different from other men...special.
Leaning forward, he lifted a strand of hair, twisting it around his finger. She sat still, breathing in the scent of his skin, and of herself.
‘I’m not saying it because I have to,’ he said softly, letting go of her hair. ‘I’m saying it because I want to. And because it’s true.’
His words felt good...almost as good as the feeling of his warm arm resting lightly against her back. But nothing good ever lasted. Not for her anyway. That was why she never stayed over—why she always moved on before anyone could get too close...close enough to see beneath the smile.
And that was why she had loved to sing.
Up on a stage there was always a distance between her and the audience. They saw and heard only what she wanted them to see and hear. It had been the one area of her life where she was—had been—in control.
Now even that was gone.
‘We should probably get dressed...’ She glanced past him at the door. Normally she would already be creeping through it. Once was always enough.
‘Yes, we probably should,’ he said.
But he didn’t move to get up. He didn’t even move his arm from her back.
‘But what I should do and what I want to do seem to be at odds right now,’ he said slowly.
Her breath scraped against her throat. So loud it seemed to fill the entire room. ‘What do you mean?’
But she knew what he meant. And it felt as if something was tearing inside her.