This was trust. His trust. In me.
‘But what?’ she asked softly.
‘But . . .’ His jaw tightened, making the muscle in his cheek twitch. ‘It’s not just that I’m afraid to lose you. Because . . .’ He closed his eyes and she wanted to force him to open them so she could see his emotion. But she didn’t. She waited, allowing him to gather his composure. ‘Because you’re not staying.’
She opened her mouth. Closed it again, because she didn’t know what to say. He was right.
He cleared his throat and barreled forward. ‘As it stands right now, you’re not staying. You’ll go back to your life in New Orleans and I’ll stay here.’
Oh. Her heart hurt, but she forced herself to say the words. ‘We don’t have to take this any further, Rafe. I don’t want to hurt you.’ But I probably will. Dammit.
His chuckle was mostly a huff of air. ‘I don’t want to be hurt, either. Been there, done that, and it sucks. But I’d rather have whatever time with you than nothing, which might make me a masochist, but . . .’
She shifted to her back, meeting his gaze directly. ‘Me too.’
One corner of his mouth quirked up, making him devastatingly handsome in the morning light. Blond hair mussed, golden scruff on his strong jaw. And miles of muscles under the T-shirt he’d worn to bed. ‘Which thing?’
‘Huh?’ she asked stupidly.
The other corner of his mouth kicked up, and he slowly grinned. ‘Which thing are you agreeing with? You said, “Me too”.’
‘Oh. Right.’ She shook her head, making him grin wider, a smug grin that looked good on him. ‘Now I forgot.’
He laughed. ‘You’re good for my ego, Mercy Callahan.’
She stroked his jaw, loving the feel of stubble under her fingertips. It was just enough to feel good, not so thick and coarse that it hurt.
Not like his. And I am not going to think of him. Not here. Not in Rafe’s bed, which is safe and good. And right.
‘You’re good for mine too, Raphael Sokolov.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I want things with you.’
His grin disappeared, his eyes growing dark and aroused. ‘What kind of things?’ he asked, his voice gruff and raspy.
‘The things that scare me. Not because you scare me,’ she added when he stiffened. ‘I don’t want to disappoint you.’ She pressed a finger to his lips when he started to speak. ‘Let me finish.’ He kissed her finger and settled back on the pillow, waiting. ‘I don’t want to disappoint me, either. I’ve had a few relationships. They haven’t been amazing. One or two weren’t terrible, but it was mostly . . . platonic, you know?’
He nodded once, but still said nothing, which pleased her.
‘I’ve been with men, not many. Two. Well, two and a half.’
He barked out a laugh. ‘Do I want to know about the half?’
She laughed along with him, realizing that she’d never laughed in bed with any of the men she’d dated before. ‘He wasn’t half. What we did was . . . half.’ She pressed her palms to her flushed cheeks. ‘Dammit. Now I’m blushing.’
‘And you’re so pretty that way,’ he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. Or six.
She shivered and gave him a fast, awkward smile. ‘My point was . . . God, what was my point? Oh yeah.’ She shoved him lightly when he snickered. ‘Stop it. My point was that I’m not inexperienced, but it’s never been . . . glorious.’
His eyes widened briefly before returning to that sleepy, sexy look. ‘Glorious. I like that word. It’s a very good description of how it’s supposed to be.’
‘I’m glad you approve,’ she said primly, then laughed again when he snorted. ‘What I’m trying to say is that you’re special. And if we—’ She shook her head again. ‘When we do intimate things, I want them to be glorious. And I’m afraid they won’t be and we’ll both be disappointed.’
He was quiet for a long moment. Truly quiet, as if he was giving this real thought, not just waiting for her to finish so that he could talk.
She liked that, too.
‘What do you want, Mercy?’ he finally asked, completely serious. ‘Do you want to wait? If so, I can do that. Do you want to dip your toe in?’ He lifted one blond brow. ‘Or cannonball?’
She covered her eyes with her hands. ‘Oh my God. Really, Rafe?’
He nuzzled her neck, kissing up her jaw to behind her ear. ‘Really, Mercy. We can do nothing or everything or something in between. Whatever it is, I am pretty sure it’ll be glorious.’
He was teasing her, but only a little. And only to put her at ease. Which worked surprisingly well. ‘I want to be brave. You know. Sexually.’
His voice lost its teasing, but his mouth stayed on the skin behind her ear. ‘You don’t have to be.’
She dropped her hands from her eyes, meeting his. ‘But I want to be. I want to be brave with you.’ She winced. ‘But maybe not cannonball. Not just yet.’
His lips twitched and his hand moved over her shoulder to the top button of her pj’s. He toyed with it, making her shiver again. ‘But maybe dipping your toe in? The water’s warm.’
She laughed again. ‘God, we’re like middle schoolers, aren’t we?’ Then she closed her eyes on a gasp when he let go of her button and covered her breast with his palm, only the thin layer of her pj’s keeping them from being skin on skin.
‘I’m much better at this than I was in middle school. I promise. Can I show you?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’
He slipped the first button free, kissing the skin he’d bared. His lips were soft and warm and made her body edgy and tight as she waited for him to go on.
‘You say “stop” or “no” or anything like that and I’ll stop,’ he said, back to serious. ‘I promise.’
‘I trust you.’
He shuddered, dropping his forehead to her collarbone. He was quiet, motionless for so long that she stroked a tentative hand through his hair. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. It’s all right. All good. I was scared that you were afraid of me. I’m still afraid that if I move too fast, I’ll scare you away.’
She shifted to kiss his hair. ‘I’d come back.’
He looked up abruptly. ‘But I would have scared you to start with. I never want you to be afraid of me.’
She traced the line of his eyebrows, the slightly crooked ridge of his nose, his lips. ‘I’m not. I never have been. There’s something about you that makes me feel safer than I’ve ever felt. But, Rafe?’