Page 68 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

But I had never loved.

Until now. Until Kate.

I had told myself maybe I never would love, because my mom had never shown me how. I had figured love was something you learned how to do by first being loved by someone yourself. How was I supposed to learn how to love when no one had ever taught me how?

But I loved Kate. Even though I was quite sure she did not love me back. I knew she didn’t, but I had no doubts at all about my own feelings. This thing was new, but it was big and it was certain.

And it was scary. There was nothing safe about it. It was messy and unwieldy and taking up far too much room inside me. I had no reason to think she would ever return my feelings. We had an agreement, and falling in love wasn’t it. Given the way she had reacted to me meeting her ex-in-laws, she wasn’t ready for love.

All that made for a damn good reason to turn tail and run away.

Once, I would have done exactly that. But now? No. I had always gone after what I wanted. Mostly what I had wanted were purpose and security. I wanted my life to have meaning, and I wanted to feel safe. Now, I wanted Kate, and she wasn’t safe at all. But that wasn’t going to stop me from trying, because if I could overcome all the obstacles that made a relationship feel impossible, why couldn’t she?

I didn’t have words for all the things roiling inside me. So instead of saying anything, I leaned down and kissed her. I kissed her hard, with all the need and longing and hope and fear I had in him. I kissed her until the fear faded and all I had left was hope.

Hope and need. So much goddamn need.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, returning my kiss with so much fervor that I could almost believe she felt the same way. She pushed her fingers through my hair, digging into my scalp to keep me with her.

When we broke apart, her lips were wet and swollen. If anyone were to see her right now, they would know immediately that she had been thoroughly kissed, by a man who was very much alive. I loved that and I didn’t care what it said about me.

“Inside,” she whispered.

She stood, shaking off the blanket, and took me by the hand. Since inside happened to be where the bed was, I was happy to comply. I followed her into the house, up the stairs, and down the hallway to her bedroom.

I had never been in her bedroom before, but it felt familiar anyhow. It was just so Kate. Unabashedly feminine, in colors that reminded me of spring. Curtains of sunshine yellow adorned the window. In one corner was a white vanity with a gilded mirror. Her bed was covered in a frilly quilt of pale blue embroidered with yellow daisies, pillows heaped on top.

I couldn’t wait to do very dirty things to her on that bed.

I stripped off her dress and sweater, leaving her in her underwear, and scooped her onto the bed. Then I stood back and stared at her because something was…different. Her underwear, I realized. She had always worn serviceable cotton, in either black or beige, but this time, she was wearing something pink and lacy.

I dragged my gaze to her face. “For me?”

Her cheeks stained pink. “For me,” she corrected. “I wanted something I feel sexy in.” But she was watching me closely. “Do you like it?”

Did I like it? She had gone out and bought something to feel sexy in, knowing she would wear it with me. Me, specifically. I couldn’t find words to describe how much I liked that.

“Max?” Her expression had turned vulnerable, and she bit her lip.

That did something to me, made my insides twist. I understood doubt. I never wanted her to feel that way. Not ever, but especially not with me. I forced myself to use my words.

“Hell yeah, I like it. I like it so much I’m going to let you keep it on.” My gaze slowly traveled down to where frothy pink lace cupped her breasts and then lower to the flimsy pink triangle that made me ache. “For another minute anyway.”

She giggled. “Take your clothes off, Max.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She lounged against the pillows, watching as I stripped off my shirt and quickly followed that with my pants. She wasn’t shy at all about perusing my body, a fact I enjoyed tremendously. When she made a tiny hum of appreciation, I felt like a god.

“As pretty as these lacy things are, they need to come off, sweetheart,” I said and delighted in the sudden flare of heat in her eyes.

She sat up, unclasped her bra behind her back, and tossed it aside. Then she lay back again, lifted her hips, and shimmied her underwear down her legs. It was about the sexiest damn thing I had ever seen, and I didn’t know why. Maybe because she did it for me. Just me. Maybe I really was that simple.

I grabbed her ankles and dragged her toward me, to the edge of the bed, making her gasp and giggle. The giggling stopped when I dropped to my knees. Our gazes collided, and then I lowered my eyes to the feast before me, her legs spread wide to reveal dark curls at the apex of her thighs. Her breathing stuttered when I traced the seam of her with my index finger, then pushed deeper in. I groaned, feeling that she was already wet. For me.

“Max, will you go down on me?”

I looked up, surprised, because I thought it was already very clear where I intended to put my mouth. She gazed back at me, a playful smile hovering on her lips, her dark eyes melty and trusting. The intimacy of the moment wrapped around me like a cloak, blurring the outside world.

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