“No, sweetheart.” He sat down beside her, close enough to keep his hand on her. “Don’t show him he got to you. Give his insults all the attention they deserve—none.”
“I’m not…” She bit her lip. “Maybe stronger people can ignore what other people say, but I’m not like that. It hurts.”
He slid his arm around her, pulling her close. “I see that. I’m sorry, Murphy. Want me to beat him up?”
Her eyes burned with tears, not because of Ross, but from Saxon’s unexpected offer—and sympathy. For one long, wonderful moment, she rested her head against his shoulder, as if she had the right to lean on his strength.
But she didn’t. Heck, she didn’t even know his last name. “Thank you, but no.”
She straightened and tried to smile. “Honestly, what he said was probably the truth. I’m not exactly…” What could she say? She wasn’t skilled, wasn’t exciting. Occasionally got off. Never screamed or anything. Sex with Ross—with the others she’d had since Aaron—had been simply boring. Whyever would she get enthusiastic?
She stared at her drink. Empty. Right now, she understood why people dove into a bottle to forget everything.
But getting hammered wouldn’t solve anything. She pushed the glass away. Around the room, people had returned to their conversations. Drama over.
At least now, she could leave without appearing to flee. Pulling her wallet from her pocket, she tossed enough money on the table to cover her drinks, meal, and a generous tip.
Saxon stood, doing the same. “Walk with me while Sherlock makes a run outside.”
She wouldn’t have to leave the bar alone. He was being awfully kind. “All right.”
His room was on the ground floor at the back, undoubtedly to make it easy to walk a pet. After greeting her with happy licks, Sherlock led the way to the rear door and darted out into the night. The storm had moved on, and lightning streaked the clouds in the west.
“Going to be more rain coming through.” Saxon grinned as Sherlock trotted back, looking quite proud of doing his doggie duty. “Good job, buddy.”
Back outside of Saxon’s room, Murphy stopped. “Goodnight, you two. And Saxon, thank you for the—” She made the mistake of meeting his gaze and felt the world go out of focus around her. “Um, the…the…”
“Yes, speaking of the…” His darkly resonant laugh shivered over her senses. “Want to go to bed with me tonight?”
Somehow all the air was gone from her lungs. “What?”
“Just what I said.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, and just his touch sent tingles down her spine.
“Why? I mean he just told you I’m no good in bed.” This would be such a bad idea.
A corner of his mouth turned up. “When I hear shit like that, I assume it’s the guy who lacks the skill. And seeing that you believed his bull, I’d like to show you that he’s wrong.”
She stared at him. The man could have just about any woman he wanted—here or at the Shadowlands. “You’re serious.”
“Damn straight.” His eyes filled with laughter. “I’m shallow that way. Just tonight. For fun.”
Saxon smiled down at Murphy, pushing away his anger at her fuckwad ex. While Ross had been talking, Murphy’s face had gone expressionless, her eyes blank. For a different woman, he’d have thought she was indifferent, but no, this one had been trying to hide her hurt.
And he’d come within an inch of planting his fist in the asshole’s face.
Still might.
Instead, he took Murphy’s hands and ran his thumb over her palms while she pondered his invitation. Fuck, but he loved women’s hands. It was like getting a glimpse into their personality.
Hers were small and soft. She didn’t do manual labor for a living.
It was surprising—and delightful—that they hadn’t discussed their occupations this evening. He had no idea what she did for a living. She had no grease or dirt or stains on her fingertips or under her nails, so she probably wasn’t a mechanic or landscaper. A callus on the side of the middle finger indicated she was right-handed and was either a painter or used a pen frequently. No calluses on her fingertips indicated she didn’t play a string instrument. There were no small burn marks on her hands or wrists, so she probably didn’t make a living in the kitchen. Her arms were tanned evenly—and lightly—so he didn’t think she was a driver. Yeah, he’d guess she worked inside. Her fingernails were cut short. Maybe a healthcare worker or someone using a keyboard? But the skin wasn’t dry or cracked, which often happened with constant handwashing.
He should know, right?
Making a decision, she looked up at him with those big eyes, like melted chocolate. “Okay, yes. But you’ll probably be disappoint—”
If he let her, she’d talk herself out of this. And would go home and stew about what that asshole had said. Probably for years.
“Murphy. I’m a Dom. I won’t let you disappoint me.”
He could feel her tremble. Nice. Releasing her hands, he bent and kissed her.
Oh, yes, this is sweet. Putting an arm behind her back, he took it deeper. Soft lips, receptive, tentatively kissing back.
Mmm. More. Hand on her ass, he pressed her against him, his dick totally into the sensation. He wrapped her hair around his hand, tugged experimentally…and felt her whole frame soften.
It seemed he had himself a little submissive here.
And an entire night to explore her.
How in the world had he moved her into the room? She blinked against the dim lighting as he moved away to toss Sherlock a chew toy. “Go sleep, pup. We’re doing human stuff.”
Turning back to her, he gripped her T-shirt and pulled it right off.
Naked from the waist up. She gasped.
He grinned, his gaze on her bare breasts. “Thought so.”
“You knew I wasn’t wearing a bra?”
“Mmmhmm. As it happens, your loose shirt was even more tantalizing than a tight one would’ve been.” He traced over the beginning swell of one breast, and a line of heat followed his finger.
Cool air washed over her heated skin as she stared up at him. Why did he have to be so big? Just standing in front of her, he blocked out the whole room. His woodsy, masculine scent filled the air.