never meant for you to doubt yourself, but I didn’t see any other way to stop you. You were going to discover everything. I can’t let that happen. I can’t put you in any more danger, or myself.”
Her lips parted, giving him a glimpse of even white teeth. He touched her bottom lip with an index finger, and then trailed it down across the line of her jaw and smooth column of her throat to her delicate breastbone and the scooped neckline of her dark brown sweater. Her low-slung, faded jeans clung to her hips and thighs in all the right places.
He groaned. He shouldn’t be thinking of sex. She had enough problems without him adding to it. But he couldn’t help but think of a sexual relationship with her, however short. He couldn’t ignore his body’s reaction—a reaction that both amazed and alarmed him. He’d never been that sexual. Work, more importantly, science, had been his life, something that had always taken precedence over anything else.
He’d had women, of course. There’d never been a problem getting sex. As to his looks or his sexual prowess, he’d never had complaints. But any relationship he’d encountered had lacked any great feeling.
Damn. What a cold ass he’d been. He’d made the mistake of letting everything important fall unheeded behind him. Until now.
Now with his mortality threatened, he hungered for life and everything it involved.
He slid his index finger back up over the column of her throat. Dissatisfied, he pulled away. The gloves masked the feel and texture of her skin.
Margot stirred. Her lids snapped open and she stared at him with large, thick lashed eyes. An indefinable emotion flickered in their depths before they widened. She scrambled along the couch and away from him.
“You’ve done this before. Sat there, watched me, touched me while I’ve been sleeping, haven’t you?”
The question threw him. How could he explain without sounding like a pervert?
“It’s not what you think,” he insisted. But wasn’t it? Hadn’t he crept into her room in the middle of the night and watched her sleep? Hadn’t he touched her? Hadn’t he wanted to take her in his arms, have her naked and crying out his name?
“You’ve been in my room. Late at night while I’ve been asleep.” She shoved her knees up to her chin and wrapped both arms around her jean-clad shins. She regarded him with huge brown, liquid eyes. “I had such dreams... I thought they were my imagination. I’d wake up in the morning feeling so—I thought—”
Sudden awareness flared between them. He felt it, saw it in her eyes and the quick intake of her breath as his own breathing escalated and his groin throbbed and hardened.
“I wanted you.” The admission seemed dragged from her lips. “In my dreams I wanted you to go further than a simple touch.”
It was the truth, Margot realized in dismay, acutely conscious of Jake sitting on the same sofa with her and aware of being in a dark and isolated house together. The idea both horrified and aroused her. He was darkly dangerous, darkly male and darkly mysterious.
His sudden stillness told her he’d been affected by her words. She sensed his desire across the short distance and her body responded, hunger wrapping, then squeezing itself around her belly.
“You don’t know how tempted I was to do more than touch you,” he admitted.
His words, deep, rough and thick with desire washed over her, weakening what little resolve she had. “Don’t.” She lifted her chin. “You don’t have any right to steal into my room. I sure as hell didn’t invite you.”
“But you wanted me. Late at night, alone in bed. At least your body did. You’d arch up, urging me to touch your breasts, curl my fingers between your legs and—”
“Stop it!” She stumbled off the sofa and stepped on a book. The pages ripped beneath her foot. She stared at the crushed volume and remembered everything. Her body once hot and flushed turned icy. Oh my God—to think for
Her lips parted, giving him a glimpse of even white teeth. He touched her bottom lip with an index finger, and then trailed it down across the line of her jaw and smooth column of her throat to her delicate breastbone and the scooped neckline of her dark brown sweater. Her low-slung, faded jeans clung to her hips and thighs in all the right places.
He groaned. He shouldn’t be thinking of sex. She had enough problems without him adding to it. But he couldn’t help but think of a sexual relationship with her, however short. He couldn’t ignore his body’s reaction—a reaction that both amazed and alarmed him. He’d never been that sexual. Work, more importantly, science, had been his life, something that had always taken precedence over anything else.
He’d had women, of course. There’d never been a problem getting sex. As to his looks or his sexual prowess, he’d never had complaints. But any relationship he’d encountered had lacked any great feeling.
Damn. What a cold ass he’d been. He’d made the mistake of letting everything important fall unheeded behind him. Until now.
Now with his mortality threatened, he hungered for life and everything it involved.
He slid his index finger back up over the column of her throat. Dissatisfied, he pulled away. The gloves masked the feel and texture of her skin.
Margot stirred. Her lids snapped open and she stared at him with large, thick lashed eyes. An indefinable emotion flickered in their depths before they widened. She scrambled along the couch and away from him.
“You’ve done this before. Sat there, watched me, touched me while I’ve been sleeping, haven’t you?”
The question threw him. How could he explain without sounding like a pervert?
“It’s not what you think,” he insisted. But wasn’t it? Hadn’t he crept into her room in the middle of the night and watched her sleep? Hadn’t he touched her? Hadn’t he wanted to take her in his arms, have her naked and crying out his name?
“You’ve been in my room. Late at night while I’ve been asleep.” She shoved her knees up to her chin and wrapped both arms around her jean-clad shins. She regarded him with huge brown, liquid eyes. “I had such dreams... I thought they were my imagination. I’d wake up in the morning feeling so—I thought—”
Sudden awareness flared between them. He felt it, saw it in her eyes and the quick intake of her breath as his own breathing escalated and his groin throbbed and hardened.
“I wanted you.” The admission seemed dragged from her lips. “In my dreams I wanted you to go further than a simple touch.”
It was the truth, Margot realized in dismay, acutely conscious of Jake sitting on the same sofa with her and aware of being in a dark and isolated house together. The idea both horrified and aroused her. He was darkly dangerous, darkly male and darkly mysterious.
His sudden stillness told her he’d been affected by her words. She sensed his desire across the short distance and her body responded, hunger wrapping, then squeezing itself around her belly.
“You don’t know how tempted I was to do more than touch you,” he admitted.
His words, deep, rough and thick with desire washed over her, weakening what little resolve she had. “Don’t.” She lifted her chin. “You don’t have any right to steal into my room. I sure as hell didn’t invite you.”
“But you wanted me. Late at night, alone in bed. At least your body did. You’d arch up, urging me to touch your breasts, curl my fingers between your legs and—”
“Stop it!” She stumbled off the sofa and stepped on a book. The pages ripped beneath her foot. She stared at the crushed volume and remembered everything. Her body once hot and flushed turned icy. Oh my God—to think for
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