Page 42 of Desire Me
Her belly clenched. Saint wasn’t going to do this. She wanted him to, needed him to—so much—but the resolution was right there in his eyes. And yet she couldn’t stop herself from questioning that resolve. “Why?”
One hand came up, and his rough fingertips traced her bottom lip. “I want you, Rae. So much. But not tonight, not like this.” His gaze locked on her mouth. “I want you to want me, not just want to forget.”
The ache in her gut intensified—unfulfilled need and…was that…hurt? She had no memories of this man beyond a few weeks ago; she shouldn’t know him well enough to care. Well enough for him to hurt her. But she did care, and this…
This hurt.
She drew back, pushed Saint’s hand away. “What about what I want?”
Saint sighed, his hand clenching as if he missed the touch of her skin, but he didn’t reach for her again. “I want very much to give you everything you want, cariño.”
She searched his face, wishing she could believe him, but the hurt said otherwise.
Saint stood up slowly, stiffly—and yes, one glance confirmed he was every bit as huge as she’d hoped—rubbed his hands down his thighs, and walked toward the door. “I’ll have a plate waiting when you’re ready.” Then he was gone, leaving her alone in the suddenly chilled water.
Chapter Twenty
Rae didn’t reappear that night, and when he went to check on her, she was curled in the bed, her wet hair splayed out on a towel. He took the bed in the guest room and let her sleep, but determination filled him when she walked into the kitchen the next morning.
He ushered her into the breakfast nook, set a plate before her, and returned moments later with his own plate, piled high with food. “We need to talk.”
Rae picked at the edge of the top waffle on her stack. He waited, willing her to look at him, acknowledge him in some way, but other than a quiet thank-you when he passed over the syrup, she was silent, her gaze firmly focused downward.
“Rae, we need to talk,” he said again.
“I’d rather not, Saint.”
But he couldn’t let it be. “I hurt you. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Her smile was strained and aimed at the strawberries resting on top of her waffles. “You made your position clear. I understand.”
“You don’t understand a damn thing,” he snarled, pushing back his seat. He was around the table before she could do more than widen her eyes, and dropped to his knees beside her chair. He gripped the seat and pushed until Rae faced him.
“Saint—”
“I didn’t want to reject you.”
Rae closed her eyes, and Saint waited, hoping, maybe praying a little. His hand went to his crucifix and pressed the cool metal against his sternum.
She released a hard breath. “Okay,” she finally said. “Okay.” Opening her eyes, she seemed to brace herself. “I guess… I guess we do need to talk about it.”
Relief had him sagging. “Come on.”
“But—” Rae spluttered, stumbling out of her seat as he pulled her along with him. He led her to the living room, to the oversize armchair close to the fireplace, and pulled her onto his lap. Rae let out a faint “oh” but nestled against him without resistance, the wiggle of her hips gaining a very definite reaction from his cock. He resisted the rumble that rose to his throat and wrapped an arm around her back to grip her rounded hip, his other hand on the firm curve of her thigh. He didn’t know why, but it settled him to be touching her, to have her in his arms. It was far more than a mere physical connection. And as much as the thought scared the fuck out of him, to have this kind of bond with someone and not know if she’d ever feel the same or even, hell, ever forgive him once she realized what he’d done, he wasn’t going to back away from it. If Rae could face each day with all that she’d gone through, was still going through, he could walk through the fear too.
“So…”
“So…” His smile felt wry. “I didn’t handle yesterday as diplomatically as I could have.”
“No, no you didn’t.” Her laugh held a tinge of bitterness, and she seemed to have a strange fascination with the stone chimney.
He raked a hand through her thick curls and tugged her around gently until their eyes met. “I’m sorry. I just”—he closed his eyes this time, then forced himself to face her again—“I was too close to breaking to stay, cariño.”
Confusion wrinkled her brows. “I don’t understand what that means.”
“It means I am very susceptible to you.” A grin tipped the corner of his mouth. “Touching you, tasting you— I wouldn’t have been able to stop.”
“Why should you?” she asked, shaking her head. “We’ve been living together, which I’m sure means we’ve had sex. Why would you need to stop now?”
