Honor Bound by Samantha Chase Page B

“I’m glad,” I said, very softly, my hands lifting of their own accord to flatten against his strong chest. I couldn’t seem to look away from him.
    “So am I.”
    I couldn’t exactly follow his words, but it didn’t really matter. I knew exactly what he meant, what he was feeling. I could see it in the blaze that suddenly consumed his eyes, his expression. He leaned down toward me at the same time I was stretching up toward him.
    Then his lips claimed mine, moving against them gently at first—his tongue playing along the line of my mouth—and then a little harder, deeper. I responded eagerly, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my body into his. He was big and strong and hot, and his heart was so kind.
    I wanted him. All of him.
    My head was spinning when he finally pulled away, a little smile on his mouth. “That was a very nice surprise to have show up on my doorstep.”
    I blushed and dropped my eyes, although I was still clinging to his shirt. “I just came here to thank you. Not to kiss you.”
    “Well, I for one have no objection to the change of plans.”
    I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Me either.”
    “Do you want to come in? I’d like to hear more about what you’ve been doing at the house.”
    I nodded, trusting him intuitively, despite the fact that he was a Maxwell.
    It didn’t matter that he was a Maxwell. He was Sebastian, and that was more important.
    He fixed some coffee on the little machine in his room, and we sat down on the little couch.
    “So tell me what’s been going on,” he said, looking like he genuinely wanted to know.
    So I told him. Everything. All about what his family’s company had done to my dad. What the consequences were to my family. How the Gentry job had fallen in my lap and what had come to me as a possible plan—a way to finally seek justice.
    I never talked so much. I literally couldn’t remember ever talking so much in my life. But it all came spilling out, and, whenever he asked a question, I ended up saying even more.
    He was listening. I could see that. And his face seemed to be full of understanding and a kind of thoughtful sympathy.
    When I finally finished my story, we sat in silence for a minute. I felt exhausted and wound up at the same time, and an excitement I’d never experienced before was simmering inside me at the connection I felt with Sebastian.
    He didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, he pulled me against him and wrapped both arms around me.
    I clung to him, feeling safe and understood and known .
    “I’m sorry all that happened,” he murmured against my hair.
    “It’s not your fault.” I pulled away enough to look up at him. “It’s not your fault, Sebastian. And I’m so sorry I tried to paint you with the same brush.”
    He gave a half-shrug. “You wouldn’t be the first. They’re my family. I feel like I spent most of my life trying to be my own man, rather than just a Maxwell.”
    “You are your own man. You’re an amazing man.” I couldn’t believe I’d said something so revealing, but I didn’t regret it, especially when I saw the expression on his face.
    “Not nearly as amazing as you,” he said hoarsely, cupping the back of my head. Then he kissed me again, and it was even better this time—deeper, nothing held back.
    I twined my arms around his neck and opened myself fully to him. His mouth was hard, eager, and skillful, and wave after wave of sensation and emotion washed over me as the embrace deepened.
    Soon, he had me pushed back against the arm of the couch, his weight hot and heavy on top of me. I was arching against him, digging my fingernails into his back, my body and my heart both seeking something they wanted desperately. In him.
    Finally, he tore his mouth away from mine, panting raggedly. I could feel that he was hard against my hip, his gym shorts hiding very little. “Ali,” he said thickly, leaning his forehead against mine briefly. “Sweetheart, if you don’t want to