Because she was his now, the very first thing he’d ever had that was all his. And he was going to keep her. He was also going to make sure she got everything she wanted and if that meant getting her a home, then he’d get her one.
Going to mean she won’t stay with you, though.
Maybe, maybe not. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now, that wasn’t as important as the promises he’d made to her.
She’d accepted his help and that meant he couldn’t let her down. He wouldn’t.
Yeah but you’ve got a history of breaking things, don’t forget.
Xavier ignored the thought. All the crap that had gone down the night of his mother’s Christmas party at the family estate in the Hamptons was over, done with. Sure, he’d made it his mission to make sure no one ever trusted him or relied on him since, and so far he liked how that had worked out. It certainly made it easy not to hurt people when he kept everyone at a distance.
Except not her. He was going to make an exception for her.
And he would keep her safe if it was the last thing he did.
Her skin was so warm beneath his fingers. He shouldn’t be touching her, he really shouldn’t and yet now he was, he couldn’t seem to take his hand away.
She was wearing that wretched pair of sweats he’d chucked into the hall cupboard a few months ago because it had a hole in the knee, keeping it held up with one of his old ties. On top she wore the white business shirt she’d found in the laundry pile that had come back from Mrs. Thomas, and which she’d appropriated for her own use once she realized her own clothes hadn’t come back with them.
It had annoyed him, that she wouldn’t wear anything else he’d gotten her, but now he’d changed his mind. There was something very satisfying about her wearing his things, plus there was the added bonus of being able to see the outline of her nipples through the shirt because she didn’t wear a bra.
Yeah, he wasn’t that much of a gentleman. In fact, he was pretty basic guy and he was okay with that.
Of course, what he should be doing was giving her back her old clothes, yet he hadn’t and quite frankly he didn’t intend to. He suspected the wearing of his old clothes was her version of a silent battle of wills, but if so, she’d picked the wrong man to battle with. He liked winning.
Slowly, he let his fingers slide down the smooth skin of her throat, unable to resist indulging himself with the caress.
He’d been so good the past couple of days, keeping his distance from her and not doing what every male instinct in him was screaming at him to do, which was to strip her bare and run his hands over every inch of her pale, slender little body.
Christ, he deserved a fucking medal.
He’d never been so restrained in all his damn life and it was getting to the point where it almost physically hurt. Really, he should have gone out and found himself some other woman to take the edge off, but the idea of doing that left him cold.
There was only one woman he wanted and she was sitting right in front of him, looking at him, her dark eyes like bright, brilliant stars.
What made it worse now was that he knew what her hair felt like in his fingers. He knew what her mouth tasted like when he kissed her. And he knew what she felt like against him.
There was color in her cheeks, her face glowing. But the look in her eyes was wary, as if he was a potentially dangerous dog that she wasn’t quite sure would attack her or not. Yet . . . she didn’t pull away or tell him not to touch her.
He moved his hand, sliding his fingers around the base of her neck so his thumb rested in the soft hollow of her throat. Her pulse beat against his skin, fast, getting faster.
“You should probably leave,” he said, unable to disguise the rough edge in his voice.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t think I can keep my hands off you.”
Her gaze flickered. “But you’ve got one hand on me already.”
Sharp girl. “I know. I shouldn’t.” Yet he didn’t take it away. He stroked his thumb over the delicate skin of her throat instead, feeling the instant surge of reaction in her pulse.
The flush in her cheeks deepened and he heard her take a sharp little breath. “I don’t know if I . . . I want you to do that.”
“So leave like I told you.” She had to, because his restraint was rapidly fraying, especially with his stupid brain telling him that all he needed to do was to slide his hand down to the first button of her shirt and flick it open, then the next one and the next, and then he’d be able to see those perfect little tits he’d caught a glimpse of in her bath.
He’d been such a gentleman that night. But yeah, there were limits. There were always limits.