Annie was neither slow nor naive. She knew exactly what was keeping Trent awake. She stared up at him, debating her choices—and the consequences. Just how much risk was she willing to take to be with Trent tonight?
“I can’t sleep, either,” she said after a moment. “And it has nothing to do with what happened earlier.”
His eyes locked with hers when he sank to the couch beside her. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, she realized. It was only the second time she had seen him without them. For some strange reason, that seemed almost as intimate as seeing him without his shirt.
He reached out to brush back her hair, the gesture a familiar one by now. His voice was a deep, sexy rumble in the shadows. “You should have sent me home.”
“I did try,” she reminded him. And then she smiled wryly. “Just not very hard.”
He traced her ear with one fingertip. “It’s not too late.”
Placing her hands on his warm, bare chest, she felt his muscles tighten in reaction. She felt the shock of contact run through her entire body, centering deep in her abdomen. “I think it is too late,” she murmured. Perhaps it had been too late since the first time she had seen him.
He cupped her face between his hands and scowled at her—so typical of Trent, even when he was seducing her. “You should be running as far away from me as you can get, Annie. I’m a mess—in a lot of ways.”
Her eyes had drifted downward, studying his chest in the dim light. She saw his scars, but they bothered her only because of the pain and loss they represented. She knew he carried baggage, but so did she. “That doesn’t seem to matter.”
His frown had deepened, but she knew his anger wasn’t directed at her. “I can’t even carry you to bed,” he muttered, frustration in his tone.
Her decision made—for reasons she would think about later—she stood and held out her hand to him. “I don’t want to be carried,” she said, pleased that her voice was steady. “These days, I prefer to stand on my own feet.”
He rose and took her hand, his grip almost painfully tight. They walked side by side to her bedroom. Annie wondered if he could hear her heart hammering against her chest. It seemed so loud to her.
Trent turned off the lamp beside the bed, so that the only light in the room filtered in through the sheer curtains at the windows. Washed of color and contrast, the room seemed suddenly smaller. Dreamlike.
Just to reassure herself that she really was awake, Annie reached out to touch Trent’s face. He felt so very real.
His cheek was hot with emotion, taut with need.
Suddenly she was certain she’d made the right choice. She knew exactly how to get past his momentary hesitation. Imitating his characteristic move, she cupped his face between her hands and rose on tiptoe to kiss him.
Perhaps he had only been waiting for a sign that she hadn’t changed her mind. The moment her lips touched his, he moved, sinking to the bed, tugging her down with him. She landed on top of him, and worried for a moment about his back. But when his hands began to move over her, she couldn’t focus on anything except his touch.
He was a big boy, she told herself, running her hands slowly across his broad, solid chest. He could take care of himself.
He let his fingers trail down her back, from her shoulders to the curve of her bottom. She could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of her pajamas. His grip tightened and she shifted instinctively, moving against the erection straining against his jeans. The lower half of her body seemed to go liquid in response, her legs settling on either side of him.
Still feeling deliciously bold, she followed his lead, letting her hands wander over his hot, sleek skin. She didn’t know if he’d turned off the lamp for atmosphere or because he was self-conscious about his scars, but she couldn’t imagine finding him anything but beautiful.
His beastly moods had occasionally provoked her, but they had never fooled her. For reasons even she couldn’t fully understand, she had fallen hard and fast for Trent McBride. She couldn’t guarantee a happy ending for them—for all she knew, tonight would be both the beginning and the end of their tempestuous affair—but Trent’s kisses had given her every reason to believe that this night would be the most spectacular experience of her life.
And wasn’t that the reason she had come to Honoria? To lead a life that was completely different from the unsatisfying existence she had known before? Hadn’t she wanted to discover who Annie Stewart really was? What she really wanted?
Tonight she wanted Trent.
He nipped at the skin at the base of her throat and she arched her neck, her fingers buried in his luxuriously thick golden hair. With slow, openmouthed kisses, he worked his way from her chin to the deep V of her pajama top. Her breath caught in her throat when his right hand made a leisurely foray from her hip to her left breast, kneading with a gentle, rhythmic motion that soon had her squirming in pleasure. If he could make her feel this good through her clothes, she wasn’t sure she would survive once he’d removed them, she thought dazedly.
His hand grazed her hardened nipple and a gasp escaped her. He lingered there a moment, lightly pressing, tugging, flicking until her breathing was quick and ragged. Only then did he unfasten the top buttons of her pajamas, revealing a swath of skin that immediately drew his attention.
His mouth on the soft skin at the side of her breast, he released the final buttons, spreading the garment so she was bared to him from the waist up. She shivered as a delicious combination of cool air and warm breath caressed her sensitized skin. Still straddling him, she supported herself on her forearms, her head thrown back, her attention divided between the warm, wet feel of his mouth on her breasts and the deep, urgent aching between her legs.
“Before we go any further,” Trent murmured against her breasts, “I’d better tell you that I didn’t come prepared for this. Do you, uh—?”
“In the nightstand drawer,” she informed him, her voice so husky she hardly recognized it. She had packed for all the possibilities she might encounter in this new life of hers, though she hadn’t actually expected to open the box she’d stowed in the drawer. Or at least not so soon. Then again, she’d never dreamed she’d meet a man like Trent McBride.
Trent nodded in satisfaction and took up where he had left off.
Annie had always admired Trent’s hands and the beautiful work he did with them. He proved now that he’d previously shown her only hints of how truly talented those hands could be.