“Mace –”
His gaze came to mine and it wasn’t blank anymore. It was tortured but they were new demons now.
Beautiful.
Just what I needed, new demons.
“Never touched a woman like that,” he told me.
“Things are intense for you right about now,” I said, giving him what I thought was a logical explanation.
“Don’t make excuses for me, Kitten.”
“I shouldn’t have said what I said about Caitlin. I didn’t know what I was talking about.”
“You were tryin’ to be nice.”
“Yeah, but I went about it the wrong way.”
“Stel a –” he started but I pul ed my wrists from his fingers and stepped the last two feet so I was close. Juno backed off and trotted to the couch.
I wrapped my arms around his waist and tilted my head back to look at him. “You said you needed to learn to handle me with care. Wel , I need to learn the same thing.
You’re a pretty intense guy, Kai Mason.”
He dipped his head so his forehead was against mine.
“I’l never hurt you again, Kitten,” he promised, his voice soft, gentle, beautiful.
“I believe you.” And I did.
His arms came around me. “We should talk about some of the other shit you said today.”
Oh hel .
“Like what?” I asked, as if I didn’t know.
“Like what you said to my father.”
“Erm –”
“And you tel in’ me you loved me.”
Oh effing bloody hell.
“Erm, no. Let’s just forget about that,” I suggested.
His arms went tight. “No fuckin’ way.”
“It was the heat of the moment,” I explained.
His face got soft, his voice went low and it was, as ever, a kil er one-two combination. “Best time to say it.”
“Mace –” I started but he was walking me backwards and his head moved, his mouth going to my neck.
His lips against my skin, he kept walking me back while saying, “Let’s see if we can create more heat, that way, maybe you’l say it again.”
My stomach melted.
Oh dear.
I was both glad he wanted me to say it again and scared total y shitless.
“I need my guitar.” I tried to delay.
He stopped walking, his mouth slid to mine and he muttered, “Later,” right before he kissed me.
My arms went around his neck and I kissed him back.
Okay, so maybe I wasn’t pushing too hard, too fast.
Maybe I hadn’t jumped the gun. Maybe I’d done the right thing.
His mouth moved from mine and he bent low, picked me up in his arms and carried me to the bed.
Once there, he took his time with me, building it so the fire burned deep and he created another heated moment.
He was on top, deep inside me, my legs were wrapped around his hips, my hands sliding up and down his back and our mouths were touching when his hands came to either side of my face and he demanded, “Say it again.” My eyes focused on his and I whispered, “Please, Mace, harder.”
He grinned and touched his lips to mine then said, “Not that, babe.”
Oh.
Hel .
Al right. Whatever.
Both my hands slid into his hair to cup his head before I breathed, “I love you.”
I watched as his eyes closed, like they were moving in slow motion then he shoved his face in my neck and started moving again.
This time harder.
*
After, I left Mace facedown in bed, eyes shut but I knew he wasn’t asleep. I got up, pul ed on my underwear, cutoffs and a tank and went to my guitar. I sat in the armchair, rested the guitar on my knee and started to play.
Then I started to sing to Mace and what I sang to Mace was another song that said it al between us, a kickass power bal ad, Journey’s “Open Arms”.
After the first verse, I lifted my head and saw Mace was up, stil mostly on his bel y but now twisted slightly and up on an elbow.
His eyes were on me.
I kept on singing and this time, I sang the chorus directly to him.
Then with effort, I tore my eyes from him, looked back down at my guitar and kept singing.
My head lifted again when the song became about the lover coming back, I caught Mace’s eyes and I sang that part and the chorus to him as his eyes stayed locked with mine.
I finished singing, dipped my face down to stare at my hands again and mindlessly kept strumming some of the chords to the song.
Mace kept watching me, I knew it, I felt it and I had to admit I loved it.
“What kind of music did Caitlin like?” I asked softly, stil watching my hands moving.
“Tchaikovsky,” Mace answered immediately.
I lifted my head and smiled at him.
“I don’t know any Tchaikovsky,” I told him.
He shook his head, his lips turned up in a smal grin and I watched him, opening al my sensors to see where his head was at and sensing he was okay (and hoping I was right).
“Do you think she would have liked me?” I asked.
“Definitely,” Mace answered, again immediately.
My heart did what was becoming a familiar settle.
“Do you think she’d like me with you?” I went on.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“I know it’s hard for you to talk about her.”