His fingers closed over hers slowly, stopping her.
Gypsy stilled, her head down, breathing hard. The warmth of her spread from her back to his chest, his entire body aching to feel her in ways he knew she wasn’t ready for.
“I want you,” he told her. “Until I ache with the need for you. But I won’t take from you, Gypsy. I want nothing that isn’t freely given. Nothing that you don’t want just as badly as I want it.”
She paused for long seconds, obviously battling not what she knew he wanted, but what she wanted as well.
“I believe you.” She finally nodded, but that hint of fear still lingered in her scent. “Sometimes, what a person wants isn’t always best for them, though.”
He released her fingers, allowing her to turn the doorknob and push the door open before he carefully, casually maneuvered himself inside the apartment ahead of her.
His senses registered everything in less than a heartbeat. The animal genetics that raged so strong inside him were closer to the surface tonight, even before he’d left the hotel.
The scent of her permeated the apartment, sliding over his senses like a sensual caress. There were more subtle, softer scents. Those of her family, perhaps friends. There was no scent of sex or male intimacy. No other man had placed his mark on her territory as he intended to place his tonight.
“The light switch is on your left,” she told him, waiting, her irritation edging along her scent now.
His lips quirked as he reached out and flipped on the light before drawing her inside.
“Sorry, habit,” he assured her. “Some habits are better not broken, no matter the situation.”
She nodded, moving into the apartment and closing the door behind her, automatically stopping to lock the deadbolt as well as the heavy chain lock between the door and the frame.
“I’ve lived here since I was eighteen,” she told him, though he swore he could feel something that she was leaving unsaid.
“Your sister still lives with your parents?” he asked, following her from the small foyer into the combination kitchen and living room.
“The apartment downstairs.” She gave a little shrug of her shoulders. “She moved into it last year.”
The apartment was large, open and roomy. Large windows dominated three walls, while the other held an open door that revealed her bedroom and a large, neat bed.
She turned on several low lamps before moving into the kitchen.
“I have some wine,” she told him, hesitating at the combination bar and counter that separated the two rooms.
“That’s fine.” He nodded. Not that he cared much for wine, but he could feel her nervousness building as he watched her.
Tilting her neck as though to stretch the tightness from it, she moved into the kitchen area, reached beneath the cabinet and pulled free a surprisingly recognizable wine.
It was one of the sweeter wines, he saw. The same brand the Pride Leader’s wife preferred when drinking a glass before going to bed.
She opened it, filled two wineglasses, then set aside the empty bottle. Handing one glass to him, she led the way into the living room.
Rule watched as she curled herself into the corner of the couch, watching him as he sat, not too close to her, but not too far away.
She was too nervous.
He could feel her, ready to jump and run at a moment’s notice as that elusive scent of fear strengthened marginally.