Page 141 of Holding On To Good

Urban considered pretending he hadn’t noticed. Wondered if he kissed her again if he could get them back to where they’d been moments before when she’d been lax and warm and, he hoped like hell, completely satiated. Wholly pleasured.

But his hesitation cost him. Willow unhooked her ankles from around his waist and slowly lowered her legs. Her fingers trailed across his shoulders as if soothing the sting of where her nails had dug into his skin. It was a caress, one he wasn’t even sure she realized she gave him, the tips of her fingers hot and soft as they skimmed down his biceps then back up.

As if she loved touching him. As if she wasn’t ready for this to be over, either.

He smoothed his hands up her arms, cupped her face in both hands, his fingers delving into the hair at her nape. Gently tipping her head up, he waited until she met his eyes, the reluctance in the gesture, the worry in her gaze, almost undoing him.

“There are a few things I want to do to you that require a bed after all.” He smoothed his thumb along the edge of her jaw and her lips parted. He pressed his mouth to hers for a long, lingering kiss. “Come upstairs with me, Willow.”

He wanted to see her in his bed, all long limbs and pale skin, that bright hair against his pillow. He wanted to be on top of her. Under her. Wanted her scent imprinted on his sheets.

He’d been in too big of a hurry to go up the stairs before. Had been too worried if he gave her time, even a few minutes, she’d change her mind about being with him. Then he’d taken her fast and rough against the wall. Had kept the light on so he could see her. So she couldn’t hide.

Had done it here, in his living room so whenever she came to his house she’d remember it.

“I can’t,” she said, pressing back as if she could disappear into the wall.

He took a deliberate step back. Then another.

She edged to the side, then lunged for her clothes, her gaze wary on him as if afraid if she looked away, he’d pounce.

He turned and took care of the condom, cleaned himself up the best he could with his boxers then tugged on his jeans commando style before facing her.

She was already dressed and shoving her foot into her sandal.

“Stay,” he said softly.

She froze, wobbled on that one high heel, the straps undone. “What?”

“Stay with me tonight.”

“I have to get up early,” she said, her gaze darting to the floor then the ceiling, then the four corners of the room. Anywhere, it seemed, except him. “I’m going to church with my parents.”

He kept his tone easy. “I’ll make sure you’re awake in time.”

But she was already shaking her head and putting on her other shoe. “I’d better not risk it.”

He had a feeling she was talking about something other than the possibility of sleeping in.

She bent at the waist to hook the straps of her sandals but he kneeled at her feet once again, gently brushed her hands aside then hooked the straps.

She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

He’d no sooner straightened when she headed toward the door. He grabbed his shirt and followed, yanking it over his head as he stepped onto the patio, Bella at his heels. The motion lights went on, illuminating the walkway as they trooped toward the driveway, Willow’s stride long and rushed, the wind teasing her hair. Urban yanking his zipper up before they reached the sidewalk, his feet bare, his dog weaving between them.

She’d parked on the street in front of his neighbor’s, the reason he hadn’t seen her car when he’d gotten home. The headlights flashed as they approached and he picked up his pace, hurrying around her to stand near her driver’s side door, blocking her escape for a moment to search her face under the glow of the streetlight. Hoping to get a clue as to what she was thinking. How she felt.

But she was staring at her feet, hands clasped together at her waist, expression closed.

He wouldn’t push. But there was one question he had to ask. For the sake of their friendship. For the sake of their future.

“Are you sorry?”

Her gaze jerked up to his, stunned and confused. “What?”

“Are you sorry we made love?” he clarified. “Do you regret it?”

“No,” she said, soft and adamant. “I’m not the least bit sorry and I don’t regret it. I will never regret it. I just need time to…”

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