“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, setting down his wineglass. “Have you decided, Harper?”
“I think so,” she said. She held his stare and nodded once firmly. A muscle twitched in his cheek.
“I think you should tell me more precisely exactly what it is you’re afraid of,” he said.
She hesitated, but then thought, What the hell. He asked, didn’t he?
“I have a history of getting involved with men like you, and regretting it.”
He leaned back in his chair.
“Men like me?”
“Powerful. Accomplished. Full of themselves.”
His brows went up. “That’s what you think of me?”
“No. Which has me a little confused, to be honest. I mean . . . you’re obviously powerful and accomplished.”
“It’s just the full of himself part that you’re unsure about?” She was glad to see his small smile. He hadn’t been offended by her admission.
“You’re confident. But that’s not the same thing, is it?”
“Why do you suppose that is?”
“What? Why are you confident?” she asked, confused.
“No. Why do you suppose you’re drawn to powerful men?” He put air quotes around the word powerful.
“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. “I wish I wasn’t, to be honest. I was trying to reform my ways. And . . . then you walked up to me on that beach . . .”
He stood and reached for her hand, taking her off guard. She stood alongside him, her breath locked in her lungs.
“It’s a sexual thing. Your preference in men.”
She inhaled shakily at his typical conciseness. “I guess. Yes But it’s only a sexual thing. I don’t want to be run roughshod over or patronized or discounted outside the bedroom.”
“No one should be running roughshod over you or discounting you in the bedroom, either,” he said, his mouth going hard. “That’s not what your preference signifies.”
She could only stare up at him, mute. She wasn’t so sure she understood what he meant, but she was curious . . . no, hungry to know.
“And about what you said earlier: I don’t think it’s unusual that you want to know me,” he said, reaching up to cradle her jaw with both hands. He leaned down and brushed his mouth over hers. She inhaled his scent. Her body flickered in excitement. He’d held her that way last night, too, both hands cupping her face. It made her feel special, somehow. Cherished. Hot. “It’s just that I have a feeling you will know me,” he continued, his voice a deep, rich seduction. “Whether I like it or not. And I’m not so sure what I think about that, Harper. And as for the other? I can appreciate you. I do. And I will.”
“Sexually,” she clarified bluntly, struggling against the allure of his quiet voice, his possessive touch and his magnetic gaze.
“Yes,” he agreed without an ounce of apology. He kissed her lips again, plucking at her with firm, focused caresses.
Harper found herself responding wholesale. It was like sinking into a pool of warm, deep water. Letting go . . . but knowing that she could inhale a lungful of fresh air anytime she chose.
A breathless moment later, he lifted his head and peered down at her upturned face with a narrowed gaze. A small smile tilted his mouth at whatever he saw there.
“It’s a nice night. How about we go poolside?” he asked.
“Okay,” she whispered.
This is it. You’ve crossed the line now. Or perhaps she truly had last night, when she’d reached for his extended hand.
He turned away. Still holding her hand, he led her inside. Harper trailed him, listening to the drumbeat in her ears grow steadily louder.