“No. Not again.”
“But don’t you need to change your clothes?”
“I wanted to show you how much more important you are than that.”
The hand squeezed harder. Luke was fighting who he was to prove himself to her.
Oh, you idiot. Weren’t you supposed to NOT fall for him?
Marisa ignored the voice inside her head. “I know, but your routines are part of you. Just like my untidiness is part of me.” She reached for his tie to undo it.
“Marisa, don’t—”
“You don’t have to prove anything,” she said unsteadily, her hands shaking.
Screw space. Screw getting away from him. He’d probably follow her, anyway, so what was the point? Besides, her poor, uptight, gorgeous McNamara needed her and she wasn’t going to turn his gesture into nothing by denying him.
She made short work of the tie, pulling it free. Then she turned and draped it over the back of the chair near the dresser. “Does that work?” she asked him.
He nodded curtly. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She began undoing his jacket.
“Marisa…”
She glanced up at him. He seemed so unhappy. So disappointed. Undoing the last button, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed his stern mouth. “Haven’t you ever heard the words ‘it’s the thought that counts’?”
His hand caught suddenly in her hair, holding her close. He was kissing her again with greater hunger. “Marisa…”
Gently she pushed him, smiling. “This will be so much better if you let me finish this.”
“I can do it.”
“No.” And she didn’t realize how much doing this for him meant to her until now. “I want to.”
He released her and let her take off his jacket, watching as she hung it over the back of the chair where his tie was. Then his shirt. His shoes and socks and his trousers. Each item of clothing taken off and hung or folded neatly on the chair. Just how he liked them.
He was down to his boxers, and when she slid her hands into the waistband, ready to pull them down and off him, he growled and pushed her suddenly onto the bed. Then he was on top of her, kissing her with all that familiar desperation.
She threaded her fingers in his hair, pulling him away. “Hey, down boy,” she gasped. “I haven’t finished.”
“Yes, you have.” And he kissed her again, the kiss raw and hungry. There was no tension in him now, his need for the routine satisfied. So she kissed him back, loving the sensation of his bare skin under her hands as she stroked his spine, the weight of his body on hers.
But then he slowed down and stopped, and then it was her turn to be undressed. He did so with all the care and gentleness that she’d used with him, folding each item and laying it on top of the dresser.
And although she wanted him badly by then, she was content to watch him, fascinated by the way he folded the material and smoothed it down, his movements practiced and precise.
Then, when they were finally naked, he turned those same movements onto her. Touching her carefully, gently. Precisely.
She shivered as his hands cupped her breasts, as he took a nipple into his mouth, gentle suction intensifying the sensation. “Luke…” She opened her legs for him in invitation, wanting him. But he’d slowed right down now and although he settled between her thighs, he didn’t take her. Releasing her nipple, he stroked her, her arms, her shoulders, her torso. Shaping her with his hands.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, nuzzling her throat as his hand slid down her stomach. “This was what I wanted to show you, Marisa. That you’re a princess.”
And just like that he crept under her guard, cracking her armor a little more, getting under the hard defenses she’d woven around a heart that had already given far too much to far too many people.
But there was something left for him. Luke who was, underneath his uptight exterior, a secret bad boy and a romantic. Who thought she was a princess.
Not just something left. A lot left. A whole damn ocean.
Her throat closed up and she couldn’t speak. All she could do was put her arms around his neck and hold on tight as his fingers touched, then spread her open for him, as he slid slowly inside her, filling her up.
Then he paused, staring down at her, silver eyes brilliant. “I lied,” he said softly. “When I told you I didn’t have any dreams. I lied.” His arms slipped underneath her, holding her close. “You and the baby are,” he whispered. “You’re my dreams.”
She should have left while she’d had the chance. Should have walked out the door. But she hadn’t and now it was too late.