Page 47 of Stay for Me
I feel her behind me, she’s close, her words reaching inside me, pulling the broken man I’ve buried back up. I can’t turn back until I can push the words from my head.
But then . . . I feel her hand.
Her soft touch is on my back, moving up to my shoulder. I lock my muscles, not allowing the sensations to elicit a reaction.
“Jacob,” her soft voice beckons me to turn, “what you’re doing . . .”
I can’t help myself. I face her. Her eyes are soft, long lashes framing the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Neither of us speak.
Neither of us move.
We just stand as if we were acting out a scene that has been scripted.
And God do I have urges.
Her lips part, small breaths of air escaping them, and I can feel the tension. I could kiss her. In her eyes, I see the desire swimming. Brenna’s chest rises and falls and then she swallows deep.
I don’t know that I have ever wanted anything as much as I want her right now, but I can’t just act. I hear my brother’s warnings in my head as clearly as I can see her hesitation.
I remember her pulling back from me the other night, the apprehension that lingered when I willed her to do it with everything in me.
“I want to kiss you,” I confess, wanting her to know she’s not misreading anything.
Her breathing accelerates.
“I want to press my lips to yours so fucking much.”
“I want . . .”
“What do you want, Brenna?”
She shifts a bit closer. I can feel her breasts just grazing my chest. “I want you to kiss me, but . . .”
The desperate part of me wants to reach out, grab her, and kiss her senseless, but I know that would be wrong.
Slowly, I bring my hand up, lightly curling my fingers around her wrist. Her pulse is quick, and I fight back a smile. I graze the skin on her arm, moving at a pace that should nominate me for sainthood. When I reach her neck, my thumb brushes her cheek, and she leans into my touch.
“But what?”
She doesn’t answer, so I slide my other arm along her back, and her hands rest on my chest.
She’s not ready. She can’t do this. She’s lost too much, and I’m being a selfish asshole.
“Do you feel that?” I ask as her palm settles over my heartbeat.
She nods.
“You make me feel this way. Just being near you . . . you’re so damn beautiful. So smart. So brave. I know I’m a bastard for even thinking of kissing you, but I would be lying if I said I don’t.”
Her chin dips a bit, and I take a chance and gently press my lips to her forehead. “And you make me feel a lot more than I’m ready to feel. I can’t . . .”
I lean back and use my hand to tilt her chin up to look at me. Once her lashes lift and those blue eyes meet mine, I know this isn’t the right time. “I shouldn’t push you.”
“You’re not.”
I am.
My hands drop because if I keep touching her like this, I’m going to kiss her, and that would be so fucking wrong.
