He walks us down to a door at the end of a hallway. The bed is big and neatly made, and the room looks comfortable. Nothing fancy or expensive, but it's well taken care of, well decorated, and well lived-in. There's a window air-conditioning unit, and he must keep it turned down low because the room temperature is cooler than the rest of the house.
He leans back against the door, closing it behind him, and captures my lips once again. I don't know whether it's the drop in temperature or the change in his kiss that has me shivering. Gone is the frenzy, and in its place is a slow, steady exploration that kindles an already burning need at the juncture of my thighs. When his tongue has touched every corner of my mouth, he breaks away, resting his forehead on mine as we both struggle to catch our breath.
He crosses the room, and sets me on the edge of his bed. I remember my soaked clothes and protest, “I'm wet.”
That draws another lazy chuckle from him and with a kiss to my forehead, he says, “I hope so.”
I hide a grin, and then poke him in the chest. “Dirty.”
He leans over me, until I have to lie back on my elbows to see his face. He braces his arms just outside my shoulders and lowers his mouth toward mine.
“Damn right. If you could see the way that dress is clinging to your body, you wouldn't blame me. Hell, even before the dress was wet, all I could think about was getting you out of it.”
“Then why am I still in it?”
“Truth?” he asks, and I nod. He trails one hand over my waist and down to my hip, and his warm touch burns through the wet fabric. He says, “Now that I'm back home, I've been trying to clean up my act. Be more responsible. Do things right.”
“And I'm wrong?”
“No. Jesus, no. You're … Fuck, I don't even have the words to describe you. And if you knew me, you'd know how rare that is.”
“But we don't know each other.”
We couldn't. He could never really know me.
“I'd like to know you.”
Gods, I wish things were that simple. It's too easy to imagine myself with him. Imagine lazy days in bed. Discovering other ways to make him laugh. What I wouldn't give to be able to be with someone. No thoughts to my ability and how long is too long to stay. No lies about my past or what I am. If I could be normal, live like a normal person, I think Wilder would be a pretty perfect choice.
But I don't get normal.
And it’s one thing to ignore that in the heat of the moment with his body flush against mine, but with him holding back? Not even I’m that reckless.
I place a hand on his chest to push him back so I can stand. “Maybe …” I don’t even want to say the words, but I force myself. “Maybe this is a mistake.”
I slip around him toward his door even though I don’t have the slightest clue where I’ll go or what I’ll do. As soon as I touch the doorknob, I feel him behind me. He places a hand on the door, holding it shut.
“Tell me why first.” He looms behind me, his body tempting and his breath teasing at the nape of my neck.
I sigh, but don’t turn around to face him. “Because you’re not sure you want this. That’s reason enough for me.”
He spins me around with surprising speed, and presses me back against the door. He leans his weight into me, not enough to be heavy, but so that I can feel the hard jut of his erection against the softness of my belly.
“First, you’re wrong. Want doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel about having you in my bed. You’re sexy, intriguing, and you look damn good in my shower. Though next time I’d advocate we do that part without our clothes.” I scoff out a laugh, but when he tips my chin up with his finger, he looks serious. “But I wasn’t asking why you thought it was a mistake. I want to know why you look so exhausted, and why you’re not wearing shoes, and what that homeless man on the street said to make you look so scared. I want to know why I couldn’t take you home and do this in your bed. Those are the whys I want answered.”
And those are precisely the answers I can’t give him, so instead I rise up on my toes and kiss him again. He groans against my mouth, and his tongue delves inside, searching and demanding. When I’ve forgotten everything besides the heat of his kiss, he pulls back, resting his forehead against mine. I’m panting for breath when he says, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about those questions.”
That leaves me two options. Leave before he digs any deeper … or work harder at distracting him.
The choice is easier than it should be.
Chapter Seven
I touch his chest, and push him back until he stands far enough away for me to gather the ends of my damp dress and pull it up and over my head. I'm not wearing a bra, so my nipples immediately pull into painfully tight buds in the cold room. His gaze drops down to take me in, and I fix my eyes on his bare chest in turn. I'm confident in my looks, but I also know that I don't necessarily meet modern society's idea of a perfect beauty. I was made for a time when men valued the curves of a woman. My breasts are plump and full, and my stomach slopes out into generous hips. Sometimes men would rather I be thinner, but that's another thing about me that I can't change. This is the shape I'll always have.
From the dark look in his eyes, I guess he’s not the type to prefer stick thin girls. His face dips close to mine, and his stubbled cheek rubs against my jaw. Hot breath tickles my ear, and he whispers, “You're so damn beautiful it hurts.”
This time I don't have to ask him to touch me. His hands reach out to cup my breasts, his palms rasping over my taut nipples. I bite my lip and close my eyes.
Sweet suffering.
That will be how I remember this night for the rest of my days.
I should walk away. I might make a point to avoid emotional attachments, but I know a few things about highs and lows. And Wilder is one peak that’s guaranteed to come with a miserably low valley. But I also know that I wouldn’t normally risk a dalliance with a non-artist. Too many risks. Too many complications. But tonight there's so little energy in me after that fiasco back in the club that there's almost no risk at all to take this one thing for myself, this one night.
“Look at me, Kalli.”
I open my eyes and think one night. And I’m not sure which is more overwhelming, my excitement for what’s to come or the dread for the moment when that one night ends. He lifts my breasts, dragging his thumbs over the tips; it takes all my concentration to keep my eyes on him.
“We might not know each other now, but I have every intention of knowing you after tonight,” he says. “I'm going to know every inch of your body. I'll know what makes you breathe faster and what makes you feel like you can't breathe at all. I'll know what makes you close your eyes, and the sounds you make when something feels good. If there's one thing I am, it's determined, and I've decided to know you better than anyone ever has.”