“Quick!” Dean clutched his chest. “Administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”
I giggled. He straightened and winked at me before turning off the TV.
“Okay, then,” he said. “A Russian icon painter doesn’t do it for you. What does?”
“This really handsome medieval history professor.” My breath escaped me with the blunt confession.
Our gazes collided across the expanse of the sofa. A current of electricity crackled between us. We hadn’t kissed since that night in his apartment. I knew we both wanted to. I also knew I had to be the one to initiate it.
I pushed the popcorn bowl aside and got to my knees. My pulse intensified as I moved across the sofa and knelt by his side. A slight tension rippled through him. I put out a hand and placed it on his warm chest. His heart pounded.
“What does the R stand for?” he asked.
“The R?”
“Olivia R. Winter. Rachel?”
“Rose.”
“Olivia Rose Winter.” His voice wrapped around my name, deep and caressing. “Pretty.”
“Thanks.” I tilted my head to study him. “Have you ever dated a student before?”
“You’re not my student, but no. Never.”
“So why me?”
“Couldn’t stay away from you.” He lifted a hand to cover mine where it rested on his chest. “Didn’t want to.”
“I’m not…” I swallowed to ease the dryness of my throat. “I’m not like other girls.”
“I know.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“More than okay.”
I wondered why, but couldn’t bring myself to ask for fear he might expect more of my own revelations. I was twenty-four, and I had yet to explore my own sexuality deeply and thoroughly. I’d wanted to for years, but was thwarted by so many things—fear, danger, shame, inhibitions.
None of which I experienced with Dean.
I knew I could be unreservedly passionate with him. He’d take me places I’d only dreamed about and keep me safe the entire time. Even when I’d confessed about the scars knitting through my soul, he had not retreated.
Just the opposite, in fact. He’d drawn his sword in readiness to protect me.
I curled my fingers against his chest. “I’ll need to go slow.”
“I can go slow.”
“It might be too slow for you.”
Dean looked at me for a long minute, a shallow crease between his eyebrows, as if he were trying to figure me out.
“I like downhill skiing,” he finally said.
I blinked. “Okay.”
“I like speedboats and bungee jumping.” He leaned forward and put his hand beneath my chin. “I also like hiking, rock climbing, and fishing.”
“That’s… um, very diverse of you.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “My point is that fast is fun. It’s exciting, an adrenaline charge. But slow is no less satisfying. In fact, it can be even more of a rush to work and savor every step rather than fixate on getting to the end.”
“Well.” I exhaled a long breath, my skin tingling at the idea of savoring every step. “That’s good to know.”
“I’ll wait.” He lowered his hand from my chin and sat back. “Until you’re ready for me.”
“And you won’t…”
“I won’t pressure you.”
“I know.” I stared at the half-circle of tanned skin above the collar of his T-shirt. “I meant, there’s a lot of other stuff besides intercourse that I’d like to do with you first, but I’d hate for you to think I’m…”
“Playing games?”
“Or being a tease.” I forced my gaze back to his.
Pain and anger flashed in his eyes, emotions I’d seen that night I told him about my childhood.
“I don’t think that of you,” he said. “I won’t.”
“Okay.” My heartbeat sped up a little. “So we can fool around but take it slow and see where it leads us?”
“We can do that, beauty.”
Beauty.
I smiled, pleasure diminishing my unease like sunlight on shadows. I turned my hand where it rested on his chest so our palms met. His strong fingers closed around mine.
“Can I tell you something?” I asked after a few minutes.
“Sure.”
“Remember when I told you I…” My belly tightened. “Uh, when I told you I’m not frigid?”
“Actually, you didn’t have to tell me that.” Amusement creased his eyes. “I already knew.”
I blushed. “Well, I have a lot of fantasies.”
“About what?” His heartbeat increased beneath our entwined hands.
“Lately… you.”
“Me.”
I nodded.
“And what kind of fantasies do you have about me?” His voice was getting husky.
“Pretty explicit ones.” My blood grew hot as I remembered my fantasy from that very morning of me wrapping my legs around his hips as he drove into me hard enough to make my body tremble.
Definitely wasn’t ready to confess that one yet.
“I’ve done a lot more in my fantasies than I have in reality,” I admitted.
He didn’t ask why. He waited for more.
“But my fantasies have always been about anonymous encounters,” I continued. “Never about a man I know. Until you.”
He leaned closer to me, his eyes brewing with heat, but he didn’t touch me beyond the clasp of my hand against his chest.