“Mmmm?”
“What are we doing here?”
“Don’t know, baby. But I like it.”
Baby.
God.
I can’t get enough of this man.
CHAPTER 15
“Gotta stop, honey,” Heath murmurs as my lips trail down his throat.
I pull back, hot and bothered, but mostly confused. His hands are under my shirt, but he slowly pulls them out.
“What do you mean stop?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No. Fuck no.” He sits us up, shifting so his erection is no longer pressed against me. “Believe me, I don’t want to stop, but . . .”
I look away, shame rising in my cheeks.
“Hey,” he prompts, moving so he catches my eye. “Listen to me.”
Feeling insecure, I turn my head back but can only bring my eyes to his chest.
“It’s not because I don’t want you. Fuck, Lucy, you have no idea how much I want you. It’s because of respect.”
My eyes move up to his. “What?” I whisper.
“I respect the hell out of you, and I shouldn’t have fucked you last night. Not because I didn’t want to, but because you’ve barely stepped out of a marriage, you’ve seen awful shit, and we hardly know each other. If you were any other woman, I’d likely not care, but it’s you and I do.”
He’s slowing down . . . for me?
“You’re not going to sleep with me again because of the situation?”
He cups my jaw. “No, because I respect you. You’re not the kind of woman to just be thrown on her back. Shit, Lucy, I’ve never met anyone like you, and I want to keep getting to know you. Until we know each other a little better and all this shit is over, I think the right thing to do is not sleep together again.”
My heart explodes, not with shame or anger, but with absolute admiration for the man beneath me. No one has ever, not ever, respected me like that in my life. My entire body swells with happiness, and a tear rolls down my cheek.
He reaches up, swiping it away with his thumb. “I know you’ve been feelin’ guilty about it, on top of everything else you’ve been through, but you shouldn’t have to feel guilty about it.”
“I don’t regret it,” I croak.
“I know that, but we’re going to give this some time, yeah?”
“Does that mean I don’t get to see you?”
He grunts. “You’re in it with me now, honey. I’m not keeping away.”
I smile and grab his face in my hands. “Do I get to kiss you?”
“As much as you want.”
I lean forward and press his lips against mine, a soft, short kiss. Then I pull back and roll off, lying beside him. “Does this mean I get to ask questions about you?”
He groans.
I chuckle.
“If you must, but I’ll only answer the non-serious ones.”
I huff. “No fair.”
“I didn’t say I played fair.”
“All right.” I grin. “What’s your favorite food?”
His mouth twitches, and he shifts us so I’m tucked against his chest and we’re snuggled together on the bed.
“This is going to sound weird,” he begins. “But it’s . . . cheesecake.”
I smother a giggle. “How very masculine.”
“It gets worse.” He grunts. “Strawberry cheesecake.”
The giggle bursts forth, and he pinches me softly.
“I can’t help it; I have a sweet tooth.”
“Okay, cheesecake boy, what’s your favorite color?”
“Red.”
Hmmm. Red would highlight his beautiful silver eyes.
“My turn,” he says. “Fair is fair.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
“What’s your favorite food?”
“That’s easy. Hot dogs.”
He snorts. “Seriously?”
“Hey, yours is cheesecake. Don’t be judgy.”
“Fair call. And favorite color?”
I snuggle closer. “Purple. My turn. What’s your favorite quality in a person?”
“Honesty,” he says, his voice firm. “All the way.”
“And your pet hate?”
He thinks on that. “Liars.”
The way he says that makes my body more than aware of the anger simmering off him, but I let it go. “Your turn,” I say softly.
“Same questions,” he says, his voice a little less tense.
“Okay, my favorite quality in a person is loyalty, and my pet hate is shady people, the ones that just dance around the truth instead of saying it.”
“Good call. Those people are fucked.”
I smile, shaking my head softly. “Okay, do you like to read?”
“Nope.”
“What’s your favorite movie?”
“Don’t watch television.”
I push up from his chest and stare down at him. “Seriously?”
He nods. “Seriously.”
“What do you do for fun?”
He grins.
I roll my eyes. “God, you’re an animal. Okay, so you don’t watch TV, you don’t read, let me guess—you listen to the radio?”
His grin gets bigger.
“How old are you?” I joke.
“Thirty-five.”
Okay, well, that wasn’t actually a question, but I’ll take it. He isn’t much older than me, thank god.
“You?” he prompts.
“Twenty-seven.”
He strokes my jaw. “Just a baby.”