He started the car back up, and they drove around to their parking spot in the back. They got their bags and walked up the stairs to their room with only enough conversation between them to coordinate roles.
Selina didn’t know what to say. All the things she was feeling—affection, gratitude, yearning—whirled inside her, and all but the gratitude seemed inappropriate right now. She should say something, though. Especially as the lock clicked and he opened the door and there were two queen beds, as promised. He picked up both bags, setting hers on one bed and his on the other.
“Unless you want the one near the AC unit?” he asked with a nod to the metal box by the window. “I don’t know which bed is the best bet for tonight.”
She took a few tentative steps into the room. “Either is good for me.”
“All right. Wake me up if you’re freezing or too hot.”
The next few steps she took were more certain. She was more certain. When she stopped in front of him, she took both his hands in hers. “Thank you.”
He raised a brow. “For what?”
She stepped forward again, so they were closer but still holding hands. She could see the many different streaks of brown in his eyes. “For being you. For being the man I’d hoped you were while sitting across from you in a Chinese restaurant and wondering if I should say yes to your wild offer. For helping me feel safe and cared for, and for letting me have my space. There’s so much more I could thank you for, but I don’t have the words for any of it.”
She stood on tiptoe. “So thank you,” she said and pressed her lips against his cheek.
He leaned into her kiss, a small gasp of pleasure coming from his mouth as he tightened his hand around hers.
Their fingers remained intertwined as she pulled away from him, her heels connecting with the carpet again.
His eyes were a mix of confusion, longing, and anger. “I’m happy to have helped you, but I don’t want kisses as a form of gratitude or payment or out of obligation. I thought we agreed on that.”
“I kissed you because I wanted to,” she said softly.
Desire flared in his eyes, pushing out the last heat of anger she’d seen in them. “Well, then,” he said, pulling her forward.
She shuffled closer to him, her head tilting up at the same time his tilted down. Complications and unwanted implications of the kiss danced at the side of her vision, but she ignored them, sinking into his kiss as their lips connected. The last time she’d kissed a man had been forever ago. As Gary had gotten worse and worse, she’d avoided anything that smacked of a relationship.
But this was Marc, and every last part of her body screamed out that she could trust him. That they could share a kiss and nothing else. That he wouldn’t hurt her. She could give herself this pleasure.
His lips were dry and a little rough from the winter air. Hers probably were, too, but any self-consciousness disappeared when he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. For a man who could be silly, his kisses were serious things. Dedication, study, and thought—all the things that he’d used to build a business that he could sell for millions of dollars before he was thirty were there in his kiss.
Their fingers were still intertwined when he moved his hands forward, pushing her hands back and behind her. He let go to grab on to her waist, pulling her even closer. The kiss had been good, the kiss had been nice, but this gentle but sure touch was what pushed her over the edge. The back of her throat tickled as she moaned.
She had to touch him. All of her had to touch him. Their lips weren’t enough. And there was no way she was going to be the passive recipient of his caresses when she could reach out and run a hand through his hair. Stroke his neck. Run her fingers over his biceps and connect to his soul.
Or as close as she could come to his soul after having known him for a little over a day.
She held his jaw in her hands, desperate to keep him with her.
His grip on her body tightened, claiming her. She responded by moving her hands back to his hair and holding tight to him there. Her white knight. She’d never forget that he’d come into her life when she’d needed to be rescued, but she kissed him because his hair flopped about his face, he named his phones, and he was terrible at hitting on her. All those things about him made her heart swell with affection.
She let go, releasing her grip on his hair as if the strands were hot metal burning patterns into her skin. Part of him must have been expecting it because he dropped his hands from her waist immediately and stepped back.
They were both panting, chests rising and falling. His eyes looked as hooded and unfocused as hers felt. If she leaned in, she could kiss him again. He’d be open to it. He’d let her. And she’d enjoy it.