Page 36 of All My Broken Dreams

It was useless. The sexual tension had ratcheted up to belly-tightening levels as soon as she laid down on her back.Robbie tried to pull the shirt down under the sheet without him knowing.

When she asked to spend the night, she naively thought the differences between them would remove the desire for sex from the equation. Deacon Wake would ignore her as guys had done in her presence since puberty. She could covertly lust after him, no harm done.

But thinking that he might lust after her was making her wet.

Restless.

The silk shirt was too sexy to sleep in. His boxers were flannel but he filled them with his jaw-dropping size. Recalling the bulge, Robbie squirmed and rolled to her side to face him.

“I’m not sleepy.”

“I can tell.”

Deacon didn’t seem to share her fever. He lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“Before, you said you couldn’t spend a whole weekend with me because you wanted to kiss me.” Her stomach fluttered. “Do you remember that?”

“Aye.”

“Is that–do you still feel like that?”

“Yes.” His voice was husky.

Robbie tried to remember to breathe. “Would you like to kiss me now?”

“Yes. But I won’t.”

She bit her lip. “Why?”

“I won’t be able to stop at a kiss.”

Her breath stalled. She took a leap. “What if I don’t want you to stop?”

Deacon rolled to his side, tucking his arm under his head, and stared at her.

“Robbie, you don’t even know me.”

“I know you. I know you as well as you know me.”

He reached over the short distance between them and lifted a lock of her hair. Deacon rubbed it between his fingers. “It’s soft. So soft.” He brought it to his nose and smelled it.

She watched him, his hand moving from her hair to her face, stroking the line of her cheek, her jaw, and then down to her neck.

The action was unlike anything she had experienced with any human being before. Deacon wasn’t trying to do something to her–he wasn’t trying to arouse her or become aroused himself.

He was discovering her.

Robbie wasn’t a broken, discarded bit of life with him. She was sleek, beautiful, compelling, desirable.

She rose up on her good arm and he lay back against his pillow. His eyes were fastened on her face, watching, curious.

Robbie shifted nearer, the silk shirt sliding over her skin.

Deacon’s hands clamped around her waist and he drew her on top of him.

Her hair fell in a red gold curtain around his head. He spiked his fingers through it and lifted it off her face.

His eyes held her gaze.

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