It was the first time I'd ever heard a hint of insecurity in her tone, and I wanted to kick myself for putting it there.
“No.” It came out in a low, insistent growl. “Not at all.”
“Then why do you act like I'm torturing you?”
“Because you are.”
She lifted her chin and stared back at me, brows knitting together in confusion.
“If I so much as think about touching you, Tabitha is going to have my balls nailed to her mantle before either of us has a chance to get our clothes off.”
She rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to protest, but I stopped her before I lost my nerve.
“If I ever take you…” I shook my head. “No, when I finally take you, Blaire, it's not going to be in a cemetery on a night when we can write it off as hormones or getting caught up in the festivities.”
Her slackened jaw fed my confidence to continue. I took a step closer to her and placed my finger under her chin, tilting her head toward me ever so gently.
“I'm going to take my time with you, properly, in a bed. I'm going to show you exactly how much you've tortured me with your little teasing mind games. And I'm going to make Tabitha's wrath worth every second.”
Maybe this was going too far. Maybe we were starting something neither of us had the guts to finish. All I knew was that no woman had me feeling this way since I watched Asher’s taillights disappear.
I was no stranger to taking women in my bed. Usually, a tourist who was just passing through, but there were times I’d entertain someone from Beacon Grove. Hell, I might have even taken Lisa up on her offer tonight if Blaire wasn’t embedded so far into my head. Regardless of who it was, they were always made aware of the rules before a single piece of clothing was shed.
I didn’t do commitment.
I didn’t do labels.
And any intimacy disappeared the moment they walked back out my front door.
It was just easier that way. I wasn’t going to put myself in a position to be destroyed again. But how did the rules change when the woman lived in my house? When we had to interact with each other every day? When she was twenty years my junior and had a family who would kick my ass if they ever found out?
Even when I added all the negatives up in my head, they still couldn’t equate to how I felt when she was near. To the constant aching in my chest, the urge to protect her, the desire to please her.
And it most definitely couldn’t compete with the way I felt when she stared up at me like she was now, with her lips slightly parted, her eyes glazed over. This close, I could practically taste her—a sweet combination of vanilla and cinnamon—and I wanted to drown in it.
I could fight it as long as I wanted, but it would be futile. Our connection had already been written in the stars.
By denying each other, we were denying fate.