Page 73 of That First Moment

I wanted this woman. I wanted her to be mine.

“Jamie,” I broke the kiss and whispered her name. Her breathing had picked up, in sync with my own and I could feel her heartbeat. The rhythm of it was one I could write a song to. “Jamie I—”

“Elliot,” she rasped my name and my lips instantly moved to her collarbone.

My hands began to wander, memorizing every inch of her. The fabric of her dress caught on my fingertips as I explored, a gasp escaping her lungs once I found her breast. She leaned her head back, and in an instant my tongue trailed up her neck to her lips again. She didn't need the Moscato to taste sweet, that was just Jamie. It was a taste I would never get used to—one I would always crave.

Her fingers began tugging and pulling at my shirt, loosening my tie, and fumbling with the buttons. Grasping onto her hands I stopped her.

“We don't have to do anything Jamie,” I whispered as I kissed her palms.

This woman was finding her way into my mind in more ways than just one. After that first kiss a few days ago I admit I had a hard time sleeping on the couch. I wanted to be next to her, to feel her against me in every way possible. Just as my fingers wanted to memorize her skin, the way my eyes studied hers as she stared at me, I desperately wanted every part of her.

With heavy eyes, she licked her lips. The warmth from her hands moved to my neck as she kissed me, gently.

“Take me upstairs, Elliot,” she whispered against my lips. “I want you to take me upstairs.”

I lifted her off the ground, her legs wrapping around my waist as her lips found me again. Carefully, I carried her up the stairs and to the bed. Half of me wanted to throw her on the mattress, completely have my way with her, but the other half wanted to takeit slower—savor this moment. If this was happening now, it was definitely happening again.

Gently placing her on the bed, my fingers began to lift her dress up her thighs, while my lips covered hers, and my tongue slipped right into place. Her moans drove me wild, almost as if she was begging for more. Just my touch sent electricity through her skin, I could feel each and every twitch. I could feel her want, her need. My fingers found her lace panties with ease. She was already wet for me. I could feel the heat and, without any hesitation, I began to pull them down, standing at the edge of the bed to pull them off her feet, taking in the sight in front of me. Never in my life had I seen a woman like Jamie. Everything about her was perfect, down to the small creases by her eyes as she smiled. I could stare at her all day.

She would always take my breath away.

“You’re very broody, Mr. Whittaker.” Jamie leaned up on her elbows, crossing her legs at the knees. Her pose was taunting me. Her dress was wrinkled around hips, her black panties still in my hands as I felt the lace between my fingers. “You should see yourself.”

I raised my eyebrows at her, forcing myself to stay put. I wanted this to last. “Mr. Whittaker? Broody? I should see myself? Jamie, all I see is you. Absolutely gorgeous. Stunning. Perfect. Wet for me. Teasing me without even trying.”

“I’m not teasing you,” sheteased.

“You most definitely are, Miss Gaines.”

I dropped her panties on the ground and crawled on top of her, her body falling back onto the bed. Her hands found my belt the same time her mouth found my neck. She undid my pants but left them on as her hands began to trail up my stomach, tickling my abs. The only thing that was on my mind was getting her bare skin against me. She was opening up, becoming more and more relaxed, but the moment I began to lift her dress further up her body, my fingers brushing against her stomach, she froze back up.

I stopped, keeping the pressure of my palm on her, holding her in place as I watched her mind start to reel. “What is it,” I whispered, kissing her neck.

“It’s just um . . .” she hesitated, her hands leaving my body. “I haven't . . . no one . . .” She lifted her hands to cover her face. “. . . no one has ever seen my scar.”

Nerves settled in her body as she tensed. Hovering above her, I slowly continued to lift her dress up. Her scar came into view faster than I thought, her lace bra covering most of it.

“Sit up,” I commanded, gently taking her arms from her face, and pulling her towards me. “Jamie, nothing is going to make me stop this,” I said as I pulled the dress over her head, “Nothing is going to make me think twice about you.” I trailed my fingers through her hair and down her spine. She shivered as I reached the clasp of her bra. “Nothing is going to stop the way I’ve been feeling about you. Ever since the first time I saw you at the Piano Bar, it’s only been you.”

The lace strap fell from her arms. Slowly and with new found confidence, Jamie tossed her bra off to the side. She heaved a shaky sigh and laid back down on the bed, completely bare in front of me, the nerves that were there just seconds before were now completely gone. Her scar started right below her collar bone and traveled in-between her breasts, the skin was slightly raised, and slightly lighter than the rest of her body.

With one finger I traced it, mimicking the way she would trace my ink.

“I don't know why you're worried.” I leaned down and kissed her scar, starting at the bottom giving simple kisses until I reached the top. Her breathing began to pick up again. “It’s a part of you, and since I’ve been falling for you since day one , I love it. I love—” she stopped me, wrapping her hands around my neck, pulling me in for a hungry kiss.

“Elliot . . .” she whispered. “You can have me tonight.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

-Jamie-

Three different times Elliot made me feel more than any man ever had. Once he kissed my scar, every fear, every self-conscious thought vanished, and it was just him and I. After a shower we laid in bed, wrapped up in each other's arms, Elliot giving me sweet kisses until I finally fell asleep.

I woke up before him, and found his arm resting around my waist. I knew he was a heavier sleeper than most—hell, he slept through the cabin's many creaks and noises every morning—so I wasn’t even worried I’d wake him up as I twisted to face him. His hair was mussed, and his scruff was a tiny bit thicker than it was last night.

I couldn’t help but reach my hand up to his face, my thumb tracing his jaw line. Elliot Whittaker was something different, theman I had told myself I had no business with, was the only man I wanted to continue with. He was unexpected, especially now.

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