“They have dolphins?” Her heart melted.
He grinned and released her hand only to put his arm around her waist and cuddle her closer. “Only for a short time. Then they go to another facility. I think the main attraction here is sea lions.”
His affection warmed her, but she directed her unstoppably huge smile at the dolphin. It was smaller than she’d thought dolphins were. And the creature had that lovely perma-grin expression on her face.
“She’s beautiful.”
“Yeah.” Xander agreed. “You want to touch her?” He walked up to the edge of the pool. “She’ll swim right up to say hi if you come closer.”
The pool had wide steps on one side—clearly designed for trainers, or visitors to enter.
“And we can wade into the pool with her if you want,” he said. “To your ankles, knees. You don’t have to go deep if you don’t want.”
Chelsea froze, looking away from the beautiful sea creature to the tall man standing watching her expectantly.
As a kid she would have leapt at the chance. Even now her heart tugged. It was a beautiful, beautiful day and that animal was so gorgeous.
Both of them were.
“You don’t have to swim,” he spoke again. “Just a couple of paces in. You could throw her a fish. One of the trainers will help you.”
Her happiness in the moment of seeing the dolphin was dashed. Xander wanted her to get in the water. That’s what this whole trip was about—it was so blindingly obvious. She stepped back from the pool theater, walking around the side of the building so she was out of sight of the lurking attendant in his wetsuit and broad smile.
“Chelsea?” Xander followed her.
He was trying to be nice. Helpful. Even though she hadn’t spoken of it, he knew about her fear. He was trying to help her with it. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want to get in that water. She didn’t want this to develop into any ‘thing’ between them. Defense rose fiercely within her.
All she’d wanted from him was that heat, right? She wanted away from here and alone with him. She wanted his body and the way he moved it. She wanted the satisfaction of the pleasure he gave her, and the pleasure she got in seeing him sated.
She didn’t say anything. Just reached out a hand and got a fist full of his tee. She lifted up onto her tiptoes and kissed him. Pressing her lips to his, her tongue teasing, sliding inside his mouth. A tremor shook her at the contact—not enough. She wanted more. She wanted everything he had to give her. Everything physical—his strength, his heat, his touch. She took him on. Daring him, challenging him. Trying to incite him so it would be impossible for him to refuse her.
Her hands clutched him tighter, closer as she strove to drive them both. Inside she focused on this one thing—so he’d believe it. And so she would too.
That all she wanted was this.
Xander’s hands shook as he tried to grip her hips—tried to halt the undulating, devastating, movements that were hurtling him towards insanity. Her breasts were pressed to his chest, her hips plastered to his, rocking on his erection in a rhythm that was so good it was painful. He ripped his mouth from hers with a violent wrench of his head. He heard the breathless gasp she gave as he released her.
She stumbled back, putting a hand out to the wall beside her for support. Xander needed more than a wall, he needed concrete pillars with iron cuffs embedded—to restrain him from taking everything here and now.
He’d never experienced a kiss like that before. She’d blown out his brains with how hot that’d got in a flash. Her lush, hungry mouth caressed, her tongue sent to torment a mere mortal like him. But it was the expression in her eyes that killed him. He could almost hear the words forming on her lips. Everything he’d wanted—her pushing, playing, taking.
Siren.
His heart thundered, his skin stretched over a body too tense to be bound. He didn’t want to just kiss her again. He wanted to back her up to the nearest tank and shift her knickers to the side and thrust deep in one movement.
No need for foreplay. He was there already. So was she. The way she’d rubbed against him said it all—he could feel the damp heat through his shorts. Heaven help him, he wanted her. Now. Except he did want the foreplay—he wanted all the play. He wanted her to wield that body, let loose all those delicious wanton thoughts so clearly consuming her. But he couldn’t.
Because she was hurting. And he wanted to help her with that more.
She sighed, turning her head away as he took another step back.
Damn. Was he really refusing what she was offering? Yes. Because she was only offering this as a distraction. Because she was pushed into a corner and could see no other way out. Because she didn’t want to go in the water and this was her way of avoiding it.
Her first moment of truly inciting something between them had been out of necessity, not real desire.
Bitterness chaffed like rock salt rubbed into sensitive skin. Disappointed and frustrated, his patience evaporated—because she’d still never told him. For all their intimacy, she still hadn’t uttered a word about what had happened to make her so water phobic. More than anything he wanted her to talk to him.
“Chelsea,” he said her name more harshly than he meant to. “Do you want to go in the water or not?”
The flush receded from her cheeks. The flashing sparkle in her eye dimmed, leaving them deeper. Damn mysteries.
She walked back around the corner to the theater where the dolphin was playing. She looked at the gorgeous animal in that clear, blue water for a long time.
Xander looked at her. Silent. Waiting. A hopeless chill sinking into his bones.
“This was a really nice idea.” Her voice was a thin, tear-clogged thread as she turned and walked towards the exit. “But I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Damn.
Chapter Fifteen
Chelsea walked faster and faster until she was running. But he kept pace with her every damn step of the way. Of course he did. Because she was still slow. She still had a leg that refused to recover to be as strong as it had once been. Because it had been that badly broken. The bloody thing was never going to be back to what it once was.
Nor was she.
“Chelsea—”
He’d followed her outside.
“I don’t want you to do this.” She kept her face away from him—even when he stood smack bang in front of her, less than an inch away.
“What do you want me to do then?” he demanded. “Why don’t you tell me what it is you want from me?”
Startled she looked up. Her pulse skidded when she saw the alertness in his eyes, the energy in his body. The aggression.
He was as angry as she.
“What is it you want from me?” he repeated, even angrier.
His emotion was a tinder strike to hers. Fury rose. A tsunami built of muddy, confused emotions—frustration, fear, guilt. She didn’t want him to try to fix her. She wanted him to fuck her. And that was all. Right?
“You want to get back in the water,” he challenged. “I’ve seen the way you look at it. You want back in Chelsea. You do.”
“That’s something I need to do myself.” She didn’t want to deal with anyone else over this. Certainly not with him.
“Because you won’t let anyone help you?” He shook his head. “It’s bullshit.”
“I don’t need someone to help me,” she flung back at him. “I don’t need someone to rescue me.”
If anything he looked angrier. “But you need someone to get you off?” He stepped forward. “I don’t want to be that guy anymore.”
“Really.” She crossed her arms and glared at his groin. The guy’s erection from the kisses before was only just subsiding.
“I’m not that out of control,” he growled.
“No,” she murmured. “You never are.”
“What does that mean?”
She just held his gaze, glaring at him.
“Isn’t that how you like it?” The skin around his mouth whitened. “Isn’t that what you wanted from me? To take the lead?” He shook his head in frustration. “This isn’t about me, Chelsea.” He spoke quiet, quick. Lethal. “This is about you.”
That was the last thing she wanted. “I don’t want you to—”
“You don’t want to talk, you don’t want to swim,” he interrupted in a furious tumble of words. “Well save yourself the struggle, because I already know why. It’s the accident. It’s about the night your fiancé drove off the road and you both ended up in a river.”
Chelsea reeled back like she’d been punched in the nose. Her eyes watered, pain howled through her head. He knew? How did he know? Horrified, she clapped her hand over her mouth. She stared as disbelief raged through her system.
“When did you find out?” She breathed harshly. How the hell had he found out? Who had he talked to?
He hesitated. “A day or so after the fire alarm.” His expression blanked, his answer came calm and even. But his eyes never left hers.
She leaned against the wall, dropping her gaze to the ground. All this time he’d known? Since almost the moment they’d met? Before they’d even had sex? He’d known basically the whole time? And what had he made of that? Was this whole thing part of his wretched lifesaver syndrome? Had this been nothing but sympathy sex?