Playing With Her Heart (Caught Up In Love #4)(40)
Author: Lauren Blakely

He grabs my hands, laces his fingers through mine, and brings our clasped hands to his chest. I look down at our linked fingers, surprised to see him make such an intimate gesture in such an angry moment. This isn’t what I thought would come next. Then he squeezes my fingers, as if he’s pleading for me to understand him. “Do you want to know the reason why?”

“Yes,” I say, letting go of all my anger. Because beneath my frustration, the simple truth is I desperately want him to tell me. I think I know the answer. But I want to hear it from him, not from gossip. I want to know him. I want him to trust me. I want him to know I can be that person.

“Because I was wrecked the last time I did,” he says, and his face softens as he admits that, and I can tell how hard it is for him to say. Instinct takes over, and I tighten my hold on his hands, letting him know I’m listening. “And I don’t want to feel like a f**king mess again. Not if I can help it. Not if I can stop it. But I can’t get you out of my mind, Jill, and I haven’t been able to for a long, long time. And I don’t want anyone else touching you but I don’t want anyone else going out with you either, whether it’s to bowling or even to mini golf,” he says with a borderline sneer, as if mini golf is the worst idea in the world.

“Hey, what’s wrong with mini golf?” I tease, breaking the intensity of the moment.

“Nothing. If you go with me,” he says, and the anger is gone now. “And I don’t want you having dinner with anyone else either. So you’re going to make me break all my rules of self-preservation right now.” Then his expression changes and he looks so vulnerable for the first time. “Have dinner with me, please.” His voice rises the slightest bit as he lets down his guard for me.

For me.

It guts me, his honesty. The way he’s taking a chance. How it changes everything if I go out with him.

“So you want to date an actress after all?” I say with a curve in my lips so he knows where I’m going. I already know my answer, but I can’t resist flirting with him.

“Yes. You,” he says, and now the nerves have vacated, and he’s back to all confidence and control. “I want to send a car for you, and I want you to wear a dress, and I want you to know I’ll be imagining how you look sliding into the car and being driven over. And I want you to be thinking about me on the way, and counting down the seconds til you walk into the restaurant. Because I’ll be there already. I’ll be at the bar, waiting to watch you walk in. And I’ll know you’re there because all the heads will turn around to look at you. Then I’ll do the same. And I’ll be the one you’re coming to be with. You’ll walk over to me, and they’ll all want to know what that guy has because the most beautiful, breathtaking woman is walking over to him. To be with him,” he stops for a beat, and I let the words wash over me, the way he’s making me melt for him as he lays his heart on the line. “Say yes, Jill. Say yes to me.”

I have goose bumps over every inch of my skin. The soft little hairs on my arms stand on end, and I am breathless. I can’t say anything to him but yes. I want the same thing he wants.

More.

“You know my answer, Davis,” I say.

“Say yes,” he implores me one more time.

“Yes.”

He relaxes into me, as if all the tension is now seeping out of his body with my one-word answer.

“But now I want you to say yes to something,” I say, and I finger the collar of his crisp, white shirt.

He raises an eyebrow, inviting me to say more.

“I want to unbutton your shirt. I want to feel your chest against my hands.”

“We have to get back out there though,” he says, but I’m already making quick work of the first button. He breathes out, and I can tell that he’s giving in to me, that he can’t not give in to me right now. “But Shannon can handle it,” he says, answering for himself. Then the words trail off like vapor as I undo each button, spreading apart the fabric, and revealing his chest to me for the first time.

I’ve felt him through his shirt plenty of times. I’ve outlined his muscles with my hands. But there’s always been a barrier. Now there’s none as I reach his waist, and he helps me by untucking his shirt from the waistband of his dark gray pants. There. Now he’s mine to look at, and he’s so gorgeous it makes my heart hurt.

Then it stops hurting as a warm flush spreads through me because I’m going to that place again. To that place I go only with him, where the heat between us takes over, and cocoons us. He closes his eyes, letting himself savor my touch as I run my index finger down the line of his chest, through the slightest bit of hair, down to his flat abs, stopping at that delicious V even though I don’t want to stop. His skin is smooth, and he’s so toned, and he clearly takes care of his body because he’s carved and cut and I want to bend down and trail my tongue across his flat belly and all the way up his chest. I want to kiss him everywhere. I want to touch him everywhere. I want to know his body.

He lets out a low growl as I explore his chest, then my hands have a mind of their own and I push his shirt down to his elbows, feeling his strong, toned arms. Every inch of him I’ve seen is beautiful, and I want so deeply to know what all of him looks like.

But I respect his boundaries. I understand that this is all he’ll allow, so I pull his shirt back up, then button my way down. He tucks it into his pants and I adjust the collar, smoothing it out.

Then I cup his cheeks in my hands. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t close his eyes, doesn’t look away.

“Davis,” I say softly. “You have to know you’re beautiful too.”

“Thank you,” he says, leaning into my palm on his face.

“I want you to kiss me now. I want you to kiss me slowly. Kiss me like I’m the woman you’re breaking all your rules for.” I tilt my chin and bring my lips to his, and he kisses me, a soft, tender kiss that I never want to end.

But soon it does.

Only, instead of leaving the dressing room, he leans over to lock the door.

I raise an eyebrow.

“This will only take a few minutes,” he says with a glint in his eye. “Besides, I need to make up to you properly.”

“You do?”

“I need to show you how contrite I am for behaving like a jealous ass,” he says, then places his hand on my shoulders and gently turns me around so I’m facing the door. He runs his hand down my back, sending shivers through my whole body, as a delicious pull begins in my belly. He pushes up my sweater, unhooks my bra, and loops his hands around to cup my br**sts.