Burn My Hart (The Notorious Harts 2)

‘I guess I had the opposite experience,’ I say after a moment’s pause, a small frown on my face. ‘My dad loved my mom. He was so devoted to her. For years after her death, she was all he could talk about. My whole life has been defined by his love for her. Caroline—my stepmother—is really good about it. She never wanted to compete with Mom; she understands Dad thinks of her as the love of his second life. So I see lov

e in all its forms—the love Dad holds for Mom, and the way he and Caroline love each other. It’s the opposite of what you’ve described. There’s so much respect and kindness, reason and affection. And happiness, yes.’

I don’t say how set apart from that happiness I am, that my father lives in a bubble and I am kept firmly on the outside.

He sips his drink, his eyes boring into mine. ‘That’s great—for them.’

Message received, loud and clear. He’s not shifting in his opinion—but this I already knew. Why is that bothering me all of a sudden? Perhaps it’s simply knowing we’re nearing the end. Or maybe it’s just feminine ego, like I want him to want me for ever and ever? It is weird to think he can let me go so easily, that he can set me up with a friend without a care in the world.

Could I do the same? I imagine introducing Theo to someone else. No, choosing a friend who would be perfect for him. I imagine watching sparks fly, and the thought spreads like poison through my veins.

So maybe he’s a better person than I am. Maybe he’s a better friend. Or maybe he’s just way better at delineating sex from anything else.

I’m being stupid.

Ridiculous.

We’ve both been clear about what we want from the beginning. There’s no way I’m going to ruin our last few weeks together by over-thinking everything. It was better, easier, when we didn’t get too deep—sex is sex; he’s right.

‘Do you want to take a look at the dessert menu?’ he offers.

My eyes latch onto his and I shake my head slowly, my intent clear.

‘Do you want to go home?’

My nod is just as slow. I lean forward, a smile playing about my lips, ‘And then I want to fuck you all night long, Theo Hart.’

CHAPTER NINE

I DON’T KNOW if it’s the wine or our conversation but my body is burning up for Theo in a way I can barely contain. We get a cab back to my place—even though it’s a beautiful summer night and the walk would be nice. I can’t wait. I need him. There’s something affirming in sleeping with him, like it reminds me of who we are and what we’re doing together.

As soon as we reach the apartment I jerk the door inwards and then practically jump on him, my body melding to his, all thoughts of my long day forgotten, all thoughts of anything forgotten. There is only this.

‘You are so fucking hot,’ he groans, as though it’s a complaint, his hands finding the waistband of my skirt and separating my shirt from it, pushing it up my body roughly, hungrily, desperately. I lift my arms to make it easier; he tosses it across the room then unclips my bra, his fingers worshipping the soft flesh of my breasts, his touch sparking wildfire across my body. I make a whimpering noise as he kisses me, pleasure radiating through me, but he’s catching my hands and pinning them to my sides so I can’t move, I’m trapped by him, as he kisses me lower, his mouth dragging over my throat, his stubble rough against my soft flesh. His bun tickles my nose and I laugh, but it’s a deranged sound because pleasure is building inside of me like a wave and I need so much more, so much faster.

‘I need...’

I don’t finish the sentence, but he nods. ‘I know. I know. Fuck.’

I hear the desperation in his words and know this is just as urgent for him, that he can wait no longer. Power rocks me because I, and I alone, am capable of bringing a man like Theo Hart to his knees. Okay, maybe not just me, but I don’t want to think about him with another woman, especially not now.

He pushes my skirt down and then nudges it lower with his knee, his body surrounding mine as he guides me across the lounge room, towards the bedroom. My skirt falls somewhere on the floor, and then his hands are in my thong, pushing at the lace, holding it low enough for me to step out of. But he pulls away from me then, his eyes dropping to the scrap of fabric, a look in his eyes that sparks a firestorm in my blood.

He keeps it in his hand as he brings his mouth back to mine, kissing me so perfectly, so achingly exactly like I want it. His tongue is duelling with mine, his other hand—the hand that doesn’t hold my underwear—is lifting up to cup my cheek then moving behind my hair, dragging me to him, holding me right there so he can plunder me. I whimper against him and then I’m lifting my leg, wrapping it around his waist, trying to bring him closer.

Damn it, he’s still dressed. ‘Way too many clothes,’ I mutter, the words panting out of me.

‘Yeah.’ His own voice wobbles; he laughs huskily then strips out of his shirt, revealing his chest to me. I’m so hungry for him and yet I lift a hand to his naked chest, stilling him, slowing things down. I stare at the ridges created by his muscular definition, tracing each one with my fingertip, dropping my mouth to his collarbone. I run my teeth along it, delighting in the way his breath snags in his throat, in the racing of his pulse that I can feel beneath my lips. I move my hand, laying my palm flat over his pec so every rapid thump of his heart resonates inside me and my own answers it. In that moment my heart beats for his, and the speed of his. We are matched.

He growls, pushing at his boxers, no longer able to wait, and I understand, but God, I just want to savour this. I’m conscious time’s running out for us and I want to remember every little detail. I trace his tattoo with my tongue, smiling as I imagine a young Theo going to get inked, aligning himself with a Greek god. Though, to be fair, he wasn’t wrong.

There is something Greek god-like about him—didn’t I think that the night we met? A shiver runs down my spine as I remember the first time we made love when he was new and I had no idea what to expect. His power and strength, his skill and attentiveness.

‘You really are so good at this,’ I whisper, moving around to his back, pushing his boxers the rest of the way, cupping his naked bottom, the muscles there making it firm beneath my touch.

He spins around, pinning me with his arms, and a second later his mouth is on mine, my gentle exploration at an end as he ratchets this up, his need palpable. He wraps his arms around my back and pulls me to him so his arousal slams against my belly, hard and insistent. I reach between us, cupping my fingers around him, smiling against his mouth as anticipation fills me.

‘Turn around.’ It’s a guttural command.