Page 46 of A Wild Card Kiss
Hazards of jilted-bride sex, it seems.
Still, I want her towantto be here.
I didn’t expect to feel so muchwant. Not tonight, and not ofthatvariety.
“I’m sure you didn’t,” I say with sympathy. That’s the reality of her day, and I can’t escape it.
Hell, she can’t truly escape it.
She was dumped on her wedding day.
My stresses are nothing compared to hers.
“But,” she adds, running her fingers down my arm, “I’m weirdly, strangely glad I’m here.”
A smile tips my lips.
All things considered, that’s as good as it gets with compliments on a day like today.
And I’ll take what I can get from her.
Oh yes, I will.
***
After we clean up, I bring her back to bed, nuzzling her neck. “Do you have to go?”
I hope she says no. I really want her to stay. It’s been a while. Along while. No one’s spent the night in ages, and having a woman in my arms feels too damn good.
No, that’s not it.
HavingKatiein my arms feels great.
She props her head in her hand. Fear flickers across those pretty eyes—worry too. “Do you want me to go?”
I hate what she’s been through. That it may make her doubt…everything. “Hell, no. I want you to stay.” I can give her that much—the truth, something her slimeball of an ex couldn’t muster up. “And I definitely want you to spend the night,” I add, even as nerves prickle along my skin.
What the hell? I’m not a guy who feels nerves. But I do with her, and I think I know why. She’s tough on the outside, using her humor as a shield, her sex appeal as a source of strength. She’s all confidence and guts, but she’s also remarkably fragile.
I don’t want to take advantage of her.
I don’t want to be the kind of guy I was raised by.
Don’t want to be the bad guy. That’s my worry—the possibility that I could hurt her.
She’s had more than enough of that lately.
“You want me to stay?” She sounds like she can’t believe her luck.
“I sure as hell do.” I sit up. “Wait, are you hungry? I haven’t fed you. I should be ashamed of myself.”
Her stomach rumbles. “Iamhungry, and I want to stay.”
With a smile, I swing my legs out of bed, stare at the wedding dress in tatters on the floor, then grab a T-shirt from a drawer and hand it to her.
She pulls it on, swimming in it. “How do I look?”
“Good enough to eat again.” And that’s the truth too.
