Page 51 of The Moment He Couldn’t Walk Away

But neither of them moved. And then she made the mistake of looking at his mouth, and everything changed. Putting a hand on the back of his head, she pulled it down and kissed him.

Or he kissed her. She wasn’t entirely sure where one ended and the other began. Only that it started soft and tentative, and then her hand was on his jaw and his tightened around her waist, and the gentleness stopped as need took over.

She kissed him like she was drowning and he was the only solid thing she could hold on to. She kissed him because her mother was gone, and her name had once been Christina Falcon, and the life she’d built suddenly felt unsteady.

He pulled back. “Nina.” Just her name, but rough around the edges. A warning. Maybe to her. Maybe to himself.

“Don’t.” She pressed her forehead to his. “Don’t be sensible right now. I can’t—I just need—” She stopped, closing her eyes. She couldn’t even finish the sentence.

His exhale was unsteady. She felt it against her lips.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a woman, Nina. Since before the accident. You should know that.”

The admission cost him something. She could feel it in the way he held himself, and that slight stiffening in his body as he waited for her reaction.

She drew back just enough to look at him properly. “Finch.” She said his name the same way he’d said hers. Then she brought her hand up, slow, and laid it flat against his chest. His heart was thudding as hard as hers. “I know what I’m doing, so I won’t hurt you, okay?”

His snort was soft, and the tension eased inside him. He stood, taking her with him. Nina wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. He may have been injured and wasn’t yet back to the man he’d once been, but there was no doubting the strength he still had as he carried her easily down the hallway to her bedroom.

“How did I know you’d have a room like this?” he said, lowering her to the bed.

She watched him switch on one of her lamps and then close the curtains.

“What’s wrong with my room?” Nina studied the floral curtains and matching bed cover. She had two lamps, the shades dark pink, beside the large bed—she was a restless sleeper and liked the space. It was colorful but coordinated.

“Nothing. It’s colorful and sexy, just like you,” he said, coming back to the bed. His jaw was tight and his eye darker than usual.

She reached up and pulled him down on top of her. He kissed her again, slower this time, one hand braced beside her head, the other moving to the robe and parting it.

“I’m glad I didn’t know you were naked under there, or we’d have ended up here earlier, before talking.” His words came out a rasp.

Nina felt him lift her and pull the robe free, and suddenly she was naked and exposed to his heated gaze. She’d never worried about her body. She was just who she’d always been and knew she couldn’t change that. Did she have imperfections? Yes, plenty of them, but they were hers.

His mouth settled at her collarbone, and she stopped thinking about anything but the sensation he was creating inside her. A soft moan slipped from her lips.

Finch drew back to study her body, and there was something in his expression that made her breath catch. Desperation and hunger. She was right there with him.

He cupped her breasts with big warm hands, which had her arching up toward him.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, tracing slow circles over her nipples. He lowered his mouth to hers then, and she threaded her fingers into his hair and held on.

“Finch—” His name came out unsteady against his lips as he eased back again.

“Nina,” he whispered back.

“Take your clothes off now.”

“Please,” he ordered her.

“I’m not one of your men to command.”

She shouldn’t have said the words, but he didn’t flinch or stiffen; instead, a slow smile spread across his face. “My men were far more obedient and easier to command than you could ever be.”

“Whatever. Now strip.”

He sat up and pulled off his sweater, then threw it along with the undershirt onto the floor.

Nina pushed at his shoulder to roll him beneath her, and he let her. Soon she was straddling him, the heat of his gaze branding her.