Page 4 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

He eyed me much like I had regarded my own reflection. Like I was a stranger capable of God knows what. Fair enough, since we had only just met an hour ago. I was a stranger to him.

I just hadn’t expected to be a stranger to myself too.

“You’re still dressed,” I blurted. My cheeks heated. God. It was like being sixteen again. Awkward and horny.

His lips quirked wryly. “It seemed presumptuous to get naked when I wasn’t sure if you were climbing out the bathroom window.” He pushed the sleeves of his gray sweater up to his elbows and crossed his arms over his chest. “We don’t have to do this, you know. If you don’t want to.”

My nerves might have forced me to take the out he offered, before he bared his forearms. Somehow the masculine lines of muscle and bone overrode all rational thought and short-circuited my brain. I wasn’t here in his hotel room just because he didn’t know I was the Widow of Hart’s Ridge. I was here because he was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen.

And maybe also because, for the first time in fourteen years, I was feeling reckless. I had hung up on my mom and gone back to a stranger’s hotel room. What else was I capable of? I wanted to find out.

For the first time in far too long, I didn’t have to be Kate, the Widow of Hart’s Ridge. I didn’t have to be Kate, the Teen Mom Who Turned Out Kind of Okay, Actually. I could just be Kate.

Or Rose. Whatever.

“Oh, I want to,” I breathed.

Did he move first, or did I? It didn’t matter because I was in his arms and his mouth was warm on mine. God, I had missed this. Kissing. Once upon a time, it had been one of my favorite things, but George, being a typical teenage boy, had always been eager to move on to things more directly involving his dick.

I pushed the disloyal thought aside. I didn’t want to get mired in the past. I didn’t want to worry about the future. The present was what mattered, and at present, Max’s tongue was sliding against mine in a very nice way.

Max trailed his cool fingertips against my jaw, then slid his hand to cup the nape of my neck as he deepened the kiss. I would have been happy to stay just like this, wrapped in his kiss, for hours longer, but I had the feeling I would lose my nerve if I didn’t move things along.

I tugged his sweater. “Off.”

He grinned, a sight so breathtaking I was surprised my underwear didn’t melt off my body. “Yes, ma’am.”

His sweater was followed by his boots and jeans and my dress. With a quick flick of his fingers, my bra snapped open, and a millisecond later, it landed on the pile of our discarded clothing. I scooched onto the bed, reaching for the blanket, suddenly shy about my naked body. It had been so long since I had done this, and he… His body was a work of art.

He seemed to enjoy mine just as much, judging from the way he placed kisses against my soft belly and breasts. He rolled over, grabbed his wallet from the nightstand, and removed a foil packet from inside. I watched as he rolled it over his length with the weird sensation that it was all happening to someone else.

Oh God, I was really doing this.

Nervousness made my stomach lurch and my hands shake, but then his lips were on mine again and we were kissing. I eased back into the moment, widening my legs so he could settle between my thighs.

And then, with one thick glide, he was inside me.

It hurt. Not like the first time, or even the second. Just a slight stretching feeling of uncomfortable fullness. Which shouldn’t have been a surprise, not really, since the last person to be inside me was George, and that had been a freaking decade ago. God, I had loved him. I had loved him so much, once, but he wasn’t here; he was dead, and this was Max.

I looked up into eyes that were meadow green, not chocolate brown, and burst into tears.

Chapter 2

Max

I stared down at the woman in my arms with growing horror.

Oh, holy hell. She was crying. I had made Rose cry, and I had no idea how or why.

Shit.

I rolled off her. “Are you… Did I…” I let the sentence die, unsure of where to go from there.

To my utter surprise, she curled up against me, pressing her face into my chest. I took that as a sign I hadn’t hurt her. Thank god. She wouldn’t be turning to me for comfort right now if I was the problem, would she? Yeah, this was definitely a her problem. Maybe she had just broken up with a boyfriend and had regrets. Or maybe she had a boyfriend she hadn’t broken up with before jumping into bed with someone new.

That was fine. Her life was her business. I wasn’t going to ask questions. But…what was I supposed to do now? Just let her cry on me? I had no experience with this, with comforting adult women.

Dammit.

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