Page 55 of Kissing Her Rescuer

But she didn't need another baby. Not right now. Not until she figured out how to love Dewey and keep herself safe. Keep her freedom.

His teeth scraped along her shoulder. “I got you covered.”

“You need to have him covered.”

He smiled against her throat. “That, too.” His lips met hers again. Some of the desperation had disappeared. Long, slow, deep kisses effectively turned her into a rag doll instead of a ball of explosives.

He picked her up, setting her on her feet, nimble fingers flicking open the button and zipper of her jeans and sliding them down her hips. It took a second to realize it, but her underwear had dropped with them.

“The hell if this is fair.” Without as much finesse, she managed to get his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, but he stopped her hands.

“Carrie's upstairs, right?”

“Yes.” Her head swam like she'd been on a roller coaster. Why was he mentioning this now?

But then he grinned. Lopsided and full of the mischief she loved. He reached scooped her up, laid her out on the sofa, then tossed a throw pillow at her.

“I amnothaving a pillow fight with you right now.” Not when the main event had managed to free itself of his jeans all on its own.

The grin only deepened. “I'm about to make you scream, Eliza. Although I love watching you, I didn't think you'd want Carrie waking up to that.”

Oh. My. God.

If Dewey made a promise,he planned to keep it.

And having naked Eliza under his hands, his mouth, made it an easy promise to keep. He kissed her from the corner of her hip, across her stomach, and to her breast. Her soft skin made every kiss, every touch, necessary to his survival. He loved this woman. She might push back at every turn, and he wasn’t ready to put his heart on the line, but, right then, he’d show her.

He looked up to find Eliza watching him as he slowly moved his hand down her stomach and between her thighs. Her green eyes went dark, nearly black in the low light, before she squeezed them shut.

She reached for the pillow he’d thrown at her earlier, covering her face with it as her body bowed up.

Everything about the woman was perfect.

Keeping his gaze on her, he snagged the condom from his back pocket. He stood, taking in his fill of her amazing body and pulling off his blue jeans.

Instead of staying on the sofa, Eliza threw the pillow at him as she rose.

“Let me.” She took the small packet from him and nudged him to sit on the sofa. “I’ve imagined this moment for too long.” He started to set the pillow to the side, but she caught his hand. “I plan on you needing that.”

Dewey satin Eliza's kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand, staring at the trashcan. He restrained from pulling up the statistics on his phone. He didn't think it was in his favor, though. Not after what happened with Carrie.

“It broke,” she repeated for the fifteenth time. She hadn't touched the coffee he'd poured for her. At two in the morning, he didn't blame her. But he'd been up thirty-six hours straight after his shift. If he was going to even have a coherent conversation at this point, he needed every advantage possible. Caffeine was a lifeline.

She'd insisted on their improvised positioning on her dad's sofa and the handling of the condom. The best he could figure was that one of her nails caught it.

One busted condom was now discarded. He'd take the trash out as soon as she came out of whatever trance held her now. There were options, of course, to prevent pregnancy. The morning after pill being one of them. But he would never suggest that. It was her body. He'd support her whatever her decision.

And, honestly, he wanted another baby with her. A family. Granted, it would be better if she didn't jump each time he mentioned having a future with him before they ventured down that path together. It would settle his own nerves and give him some confidence that she wouldn't reject him again, or worse, pick up and run.

“I'm sure it will be fine—”

Her green eyes snapped his direction. He held up his coffee cup as a shield, sipping it and watching her over the rim. That confirmed she did not want his opinion. The next step would be one-hundred percent of her decision.

The fire in her eyes died as quick as it appeared. Her shoulders slouched. “I'm sorry. Thanks. I know it isn't your fault.”

“It was an accident.”

She half-way smiled, looking tired. “Yeah. So was Carrie.”

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