had taken a back seat.
“Don’t say things like that,” she told him, her voice sounding quiet and uncertain, even to her own ears.
Much to her dismay, Jonas took two more steps toward her, closing the distance between them. Slowly, as if to give her plenty of time to stop him if she wanted to, he lifted a hand to her face and brushed her cheek softly with the backs of his fingers. Zoey closed her eyes, telling herself she should push him away as she had that morning. But his touch was so gentle, so tentative, so utterly arousing, that all she could do was stand there and enjoy it.
“Don’t,” she said again, even as she tilted her head toward his caress.
“I want to kiss you, Zoey,” she heard Jonas say from what seemed like a million miles away. “If you don’t want me to, tell me now, and I won’t.”
Her brain screamed at her to tell him to stop, to assure him that she wanted no part of him. But her heart squelched the command entirely. Her heart bade her welcome his embrace with everything she had. So instead of shouting at him to leave her alone, all she could do was stand there and let him come closer.
With her eyes closed, the brush of his fingers against her face felt like the glide of satin over her skin. She couldn’t believe how gentle he was. Couldn’t recall a single time in her life when she’d met with such docility from a man. Granted, she hadn’t allowed very many men to get this close to her. Or any men for that matter, she amended reluctantly. Not since her husband had checked out on her so many years ago.
The thought evaporated as Jonas began to stroke his fingertips over her lips. When Zoey opened her eyes, she found that his face was only inches away from her own. She waited for the kiss he had promised her. But he only continued to gaze at her, as if studying her reaction to his touch.
“Who was he?” he finally said, his voice low and level.
She narrowed her eyes in confusion. “Who was who?”
Now he cupped her cheek gently in his palm, threading his fingers into the hair above her ear. An odd electricity shot through her, leaving a trail of tingling heat in its wake. Involuntarily, she flinched and jerked away.
Jonas didn’t follow her withdrawal, instead standing motionless with his hand still lifted into the air. His fingers curled into a fist, however, as he asked, “Who was the son of a bitch who made you so wary? Who was the man who hurt you so badly that you shun even the most innocent touch?”
When Zoey shook her head in mute refusal to answer, he turned to retrieve his drink from the end table, then sipped it in thoughtful silence as he continued to stare at her. When still she refused to reply, he cradled the snifter in his palm and swirled the dark amber liquor slowly, watching it as if the swiftly moving contents of the glass were the most fascinating thing he’d ever observed. But she could tell he was nowhere near as nonchalant as he was letting on.
After a moment, he said, “You told Juliana the other day that you know what it’s like to be a burden. To be foisted off on someone who doesn’t want you. You said you know what it’s like to be resented. Does your reluctance to be civil to the entire male population all go back to that?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Then what? Why won’t you even let me touch you?”
Zoey sighed wearily, lifting a hand to her forehead to scoop back a fistful of her bangs. He wouldn’t rest until he had her figured out, she thought. Which meant he wouldn’t be retiring anytime soon tonight. Jonas Tate was the last person on earth she wanted knowing about her past. But she supposed having been kneed in the groin—even though she’d gone easy on him there, and even though he’d asked for it—entitled him to some kind of explanation. Nevertheless, she wasn’t sure how much she should tell him about herself.
Then Jonas gave her the opportunity to stall by asking, “This doesn’t have anything to do with
“Don’t say things like that,” she told him, her voice sounding quiet and uncertain, even to her own ears.
Much to her dismay, Jonas took two more steps toward her, closing the distance between them. Slowly, as if to give her plenty of time to stop him if she wanted to, he lifted a hand to her face and brushed her cheek softly with the backs of his fingers. Zoey closed her eyes, telling herself she should push him away as she had that morning. But his touch was so gentle, so tentative, so utterly arousing, that all she could do was stand there and enjoy it.
“Don’t,” she said again, even as she tilted her head toward his caress.
“I want to kiss you, Zoey,” she heard Jonas say from what seemed like a million miles away. “If you don’t want me to, tell me now, and I won’t.”
Her brain screamed at her to tell him to stop, to assure him that she wanted no part of him. But her heart squelched the command entirely. Her heart bade her welcome his embrace with everything she had. So instead of shouting at him to leave her alone, all she could do was stand there and let him come closer.
With her eyes closed, the brush of his fingers against her face felt like the glide of satin over her skin. She couldn’t believe how gentle he was. Couldn’t recall a single time in her life when she’d met with such docility from a man. Granted, she hadn’t allowed very many men to get this close to her. Or any men for that matter, she amended reluctantly. Not since her husband had checked out on her so many years ago.
The thought evaporated as Jonas began to stroke his fingertips over her lips. When Zoey opened her eyes, she found that his face was only inches away from her own. She waited for the kiss he had promised her. But he only continued to gaze at her, as if studying her reaction to his touch.
“Who was he?” he finally said, his voice low and level.
She narrowed her eyes in confusion. “Who was who?”
Now he cupped her cheek gently in his palm, threading his fingers into the hair above her ear. An odd electricity shot through her, leaving a trail of tingling heat in its wake. Involuntarily, she flinched and jerked away.
Jonas didn’t follow her withdrawal, instead standing motionless with his hand still lifted into the air. His fingers curled into a fist, however, as he asked, “Who was the son of a bitch who made you so wary? Who was the man who hurt you so badly that you shun even the most innocent touch?”
When Zoey shook her head in mute refusal to answer, he turned to retrieve his drink from the end table, then sipped it in thoughtful silence as he continued to stare at her. When still she refused to reply, he cradled the snifter in his palm and swirled the dark amber liquor slowly, watching it as if the swiftly moving contents of the glass were the most fascinating thing he’d ever observed. But she could tell he was nowhere near as nonchalant as he was letting on.
After a moment, he said, “You told Juliana the other day that you know what it’s like to be a burden. To be foisted off on someone who doesn’t want you. You said you know what it’s like to be resented. Does your reluctance to be civil to the entire male population all go back to that?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Then what? Why won’t you even let me touch you?”
Zoey sighed wearily, lifting a hand to her forehead to scoop back a fistful of her bangs. He wouldn’t rest until he had her figured out, she thought. Which meant he wouldn’t be retiring anytime soon tonight. Jonas Tate was the last person on earth she wanted knowing about her past. But she supposed having been kneed in the groin—even though she’d gone easy on him there, and even though he’d asked for it—entitled him to some kind of explanation. Nevertheless, she wasn’t sure how much she should tell him about herself.
Then Jonas gave her the opportunity to stall by asking, “This doesn’t have anything to do with
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