Page 57 of In Love and War
“Wait,” he panted as he grabbed a hold of my wrists.
“Take your shirt off,” I demanded, trying to pull my hands free. But his grip tightened.
“Are you drunk?” he asked, studying my face.
“No. Take it off,” I complained.
But he wouldn’t let go.
“What?” I asked, realizing he wasn’t going to budge.
“You didn’t answer the question,” he said, still holding onto me.
“And I’m not going to,” I replied firmly, putting my mouth on his again. I was more than done with this conversation.
But I could feel his hesitation against my lips and in the way he held me. He was being careful, caressing me and taking his time. I reached down and unbuttoned his jeans.
“Not here,” he said, and before I even knew what he meant, he’d stood up with me still straddling him and carried me into one of the bedrooms with our mouths still attached.
We fell onto the bed with him on top of me.
“Take off your shirt,” I said again when he looked down at me.
Finally he listened, removing his T-shirt and throwing it to the side of the bed.
Holy mother of sex gods.
“You have a terrible body, has anyone ever told you that?” I joked, and he burst out into a laugh. “Just god-awful. I can barely look at you.”
“You’re very funny. When did that happen?”
His smiling lips were on mine again in an instant, pampering me with soft and savory kisses that melted my sanity. My hand trailed his defined abs and slipped into his jeans.
He inhaled sharply in response to the contact, but then he had a hold of my wrists again and softly pinned them down on the bed.
What the hell?
“You don’t have to be gentle. I promise I won’t break,” I breathed against his lips in between kisses.
“You also chugged half a bottle of wine in the span of ten minutes,” he countered, giving my bottom lip a tender bite.
“I’m not drunk.” And I wasn’t. Tipsy, yes. But I knew what I was doing.
“No, but you did it because you were nervous,” he said and slowly pulled his face a few inches away from mine.
I looked up into his eyes, completely dumbfounded by him once again. Was he worried he’d be taking advantage of me? There was no way.
“What are you saying?” I needed clarification.
“Amelia, I’m not going to do this if you need alcohol to go through with it. I don’t want you regretting it as soon as you’re sober. I’m not that asshole.”
I stayed silent as his words sunk in and tried to ignore the warmth that had begun to crawl up my chest.
He was right, of course, as much as I didn’t want to admit it. I thought the alcohol might calm me down a bit and help me not panic.
“Are you kicking me out of bed, Mr. Evans?” I asked light-heartedly, searching his face. I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little rejected.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Bloom.” His smile down at me was genuine and warm. “I just have… other plans.”
