“You won’t have to,” Nate barked, shocking her by losing his own temper. He was no longer cool and casual. He was in the throes of his own personal storm. She should have acceded to the force of it for it filled the room, pressed into her like a slab of marble. But she didn’t, she couldn’t, there was too much to lose.
“I don’t believe you,” she accused.
“Fine. Don’t believe me. But our daughter has two parents and for the rest of her life she’s going to enjoy both of them. Together. She’s going to enjoy the safety of a loving home, her parents living together, taking care of her. Not shuttled back and forth. Not being forced to adjust to two homes, two lives. You saw her when she found us together. You know she wants it.”
“You can’t have everything you want, believe me, Nate, I know.” His eyes narrowed dangerously at her words but recklessly she went on. “It’s a difficult lesson to learn but she might as well learn it early, rather than to grow up a hopeless dreamer like her mother and get crushed somewhere along the way.”
She could have sworn his face registered the barest flinch but he continued.
“You can’t tell me, given the power to offer her what she most desires, you wouldn’t move heaven and earth to do it,” he bit out.
“She’ll adjust,” Lily snapped even though he was, unfortunately, right.
Lily would move heaven and earth to give Tash what she wanted but just then she wasn’t giving an inch.
“She’ll be devastated,” Nate correctly predicted.
“You don’t know her enough to make that judgement,” Lily aimed at her target and hit a bull’s-eye. She knew this because his eyes started glittering angrily and she knew his control was stretched nearly to the breaking point.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he clipped. “You’re not magnificent when you’re angry. You’re incredibly annoying and unbelievably stubborn when you’re angry.”
“I’m not stubborn!” she denied stubbornly.
His face, if it could be credited, moved closer and he changed tactics so swiftly, her head began to swim.
“You want me, Lily, and you know it.”
“I don’t!” Even she knew it was a lie.
“You want me,” he stated baldly, “shall I prove it to you?”
Frantic, because she knew what was coming, she threatened, “Kiss me again and I won’t be responsible for what I do.”
“I know exactly what you’ll do.”
And, without giving her the opportunity to retort, his lips crushed down on hers.
This time she didn’t hold herself stock-still. This time she struggled, fought, pushed against him and tried to pull away. She clawed at his sides, tearing at the fabric of his shirt.
His tongue touched her lips and a lone gymnast executed a perfect round-off and her whole body stilled at the sudden glory of it.
As usual, he immediately sensed her capitulation. Surprisingly, he pulled away but not enough to allow her escape. Instead, he half-carried, half-dragged her to the sofa and before she could make good a getaway, he pushed her backwards onto it and his heavy, warm body landed on top of her.
“Stop, Nate,” she demanded, scrambling beneath him
“No,” he refused and before she could say another word, his mouth came down on hers again.
His mouth was not gentle. It was hard, insistent, demanding. It was also familiar. It was also exactly what she’d wanted, wished for and dreamed of for eight years.
Not another man had touched her. She’d been on a handful of dates without even a goodnight kiss (well, perhaps, a peck on the cheek). Lily had been too wrapped up in her life, her problems, her responsibilities. She didn’t have time for men.
And no one compared to Nate. It was a simple statement of fact.
His mouth moved to trail down her cheek to her jaw.
“Please stop,” she whispered on a plea. Her anger was gone, replaced by longing, eight terrible, lonely years of longing.
“No.”
“Please, Nate,” she begged.
In answer, his hand moved on her leg, smoothing a caress all the way up her thigh, pulling her skirt up with it, her skin quivering at his intimate touch.
His hard body pressed against her, so familiar, so warm, almost fevered. She wasn’t going to be able to deny her body much longer the attention it craved.
“We can’t,” she pleaded.
“We can,” he growled against her throat, the rumble of his voice moving through her until she shivered.
He felt it, she knew, he couldn’t help but feel it and his mouth came back to hers and he kissed her again.
This time she didn’t struggle. The minute his lips touched hers, they parted and his tongue slid inside.
And that was it. She lost her battle and she acquiesced as the gymnastics team in her belly, warmed up and ready to go, gave the performance of their life.
Eight years of grief and yearning poured out of her and she kissed him back, her tongue warring with his, her hands moving on his body, roaming over his back, down his hips, sliding over his behind. She’d forgotten how hard his body was, the tough sinew under his silken skin. She tore at his shirt, wanting the feel of him with nothing in the way. Once free of his jeans, her hands delved underneath the shirt to trail across his waist and up his back.
His skin was burning to the touch.
It was too much, too soon. The tears came up the back of her throat, burning as her body burned under his touch.
His mouth never left hers, delivering its heady kiss, but one of his hands went to her breast, cupping it, finding her nipple with the pad of his thumb. She gasped against his mouth at the feel of him there, powerful shafts of pleasure shot straight through her.
At her gasp, his kiss deepened and what was already wild became wilder. Years of grief changed to relief that he was alive, breathing, with her again, touching her again, kissing her again.
This time, her hands and mouth became insistent, demanding, her fingers rushing across his skin, under his shirt, one of them moving to his belly, down, until she felt him hard against the palm of her hand.
The tears sprang from her eyes, falling silently along her temples as he tore his mouth from hers on a groan at her touch, his mouth gliding to her ear.
“Do you still want to stop?” His voice was rough with arousal but he sounded as if he wanted a response. As if he’d move away if that was what she desired.
She didn’t answer, couldn’t answer.
His hand tightened at her breast, his thumb swirling provocatively.