A Time To Give. Kathryn Shay

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СКАЧАТЬ asked, her voice throaty. “I was just trying to do something nice for you. Like you did tonight for Cassidy Place with the cleanup and painting. Like you routinely do for everybody there.”

      “You’re always trying to do something nice for me. What does a guy have to do to discourage you?”

      She sucked in a breath and, in the moonlight, he could see moisture well in those huge eyes. “I—I didn’t know I was…” A few renegade drops trickled down her cheeks. She sniffled. “Let me go. I get the point. I didn’t realize…” Her words trailed off in sob.

      “Aw, shit,” he said and drew her to him.

      She cuddled into him like she was meant to be there, which she wasn’t. She grasped his shirt and buried her nose in his chest. His hand creeping to her hair, he pulled out the tie and tunneled through the heavy mass. Its flowery scent wafted up to him and he breathed her in.

      “I’m sorry I made you cry. Please, Emily, stop.”

      “Okay,” she mumbled. Then, after a moment, she added, “I’m embarrassed.”

      “Why?”

      She shook her head, her face hidden in the folds of his shirt.

      He set her away so he could look at her. The bright streetlights, combined with the glow from the sliver of moon overhead, gave him a glimpse of her blotchy skin and eyes, red-rimmed. “Why are you embarrassed?”

      “Paul said I didn’t know men. Didn’t know how to read them, please them,” she choked out. “I didn’t mean to impose myself on you.”

      His body, taut as a wire, tightened impossibly more. “Paul’s your ex, right?”

      She straightened her shoulders and nodded. “Leave me some dignity, Ben. I won’t bother you anymore.”

      He couldn’t let the comment go. “Listen, lady, and listen good. Paul is an idiot. First off, to let a perfect woman like you go, and second, for filling your head with that nonsense about you and men.”

      He could tell she didn’t believe him. “That’s nice of you to say, but you’re just being polite.”

      Polite? Holy hell, his body was about to combust from wanting her and she thought he was being polite. It was all too much. He lowered his mouth to hers. She started and he thought she might pull away.

      Then she melted into him. Her body seemed to liquefy as she inched closer. Once Ben had her in his arms, rational thought fled. He was steeped in the feel and scent of her. Easing back into the seat, he tugged her onto his lap. She went willingly. His hand slid to her waist as his lips moved over hers. She responded in kind—opened her mouth and touched her tongue with his. He tasted her as deeply as he could. He caressed her breast; she was full and heavy in his hand. She moaned, and so did he. The kiss, the embrace, got hotter, deeper. A horn beeping and a screech of tires down the road shocked him back to conscious thought. Because he was afraid he might take her right there on Andrews Street in the front seat of her car, because he was afraid she might let him, he tore his mouth away.

      “Sweetheart, we have to stop.”

      “No.” She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder.

      “Emily, please. You’re killing me.”

      Slowly she drew back and looked at him, owl-eyed. “Really?”

      He grinned and tucked her tousled hair behind her ear. “Really. Do you have any idea how much I want you?”

      She smiled Jezebel’s smile and shifted on his lap. “Hmm. Some idea.”

      “We have to stop,” he repeated.

      “No.” The word was forceful, reminding him she could be a tough cookie when needed. He’d witnessed it at the soup kitchen. “Come home with me, Ben. Make love to me there.”

      His jaw dropped open. He started to object, but months of loneliness silenced him. She was offering him a night’s respite from everything that had happened in the past two years.

      FOR THE ELEVEN MONTHS he’d been frequenting the soup kitchen, Ben had tried hard to keep from getting to this place. Emotionally and physically. Emily’s bedroom was painted a pale peach and filled with finely crafted oak furniture. Impressionist prints decorated the walls and a thick peach-and-blue flowered rug covered most of the plank-wood floor. As Ben waited for Emily to come out of the bathroom, he sank onto her queen-size bed.

      Problem was, it felt natural. It felt right to be here. Still, if he was a truly good man, he’d get up and leave before she came out of the bathroom. But he wasn’t going to do that because he was no longer the man he used to be. Lammon Mackenzie had seen to that. Instead, Ben unbuttoned his shirt, slid it and his T-shirt off and removed his boots and socks. He’d just gotten the snap of his jeans undone when the bathroom door opened.

      Moonlight streamed into the bedroom through slatted blinds, catching Emily in its silvery net. She’d switched on a dresser lamp, and her hair shimmered in the light. Moved by her ethereal beauty, he swallowed hard and stood. Only inches away, she waited. She’d put on a sea-green little slip of a thing with barely there straps. He leaned down and kissed a strap. Her skin was so silky it made his body snap from hungry to voracious. He fisted his hands to gain control.

      She didn’t help—running her fingers up his chest, licking his nipples. He manacled her wrists to stop her. Instead of devouring her, he planned to taste, to relish, to enjoy with epicurean delight, but his body was thrumming with need and he had to pace himself. When she raised her head, her eyes were wide and luminous.

      “Do you have any idea how much I want this?” he whispered softly.

      A blush crept up from the scoop of the silk to her neck. “I do, too.”

      “You are so lovely.” His fingers slid from her shoulder to elbow, raising her gooseflesh.

      “I want to be, for you.”

      He lowered his head, starved for this kind of contact, for her. Pushing aside the strap, tugging on the top of the gown, he exposed a generous swell of her breast. Then a nipple. He closed his mouth over it. She started before letting out a soft moan. He suckled, fed on her body, let it nourish his soul. Soon though, he became greedy. Less gently, he pulled off the other strap, gave a yank so that she stood there naked, bathed in soft light like a Degas painting.

      He forced himself to go slowly, to savor the experience. To that end, he brushed his lips down her throat, over her chest. Kneeling, he tantalized the silken skin of her abdomen. He felt her shiver, tremble with desire, so he linked his hands with hers and continued his slow exploration of the most beautiful female body he’d ever seen.

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