Page 39 of Second Draft

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Mortification mixes with arousal.

His breath is warm against my neck, and his cock, hard and heavy, nudges my backside.

I try my best not to move, not to wiggle against him, but it feels so damn good.

It’d be easy to just to turn in his arms and let him kiss me. Let him take me. Let him make me feel something other than tainted and used.

Because I know being with Carter would be different. It would be more than just sex.

At least for me.

He’s the one I should have waited for. And I would have. I was going to. I had no intention of messing up my life again because of sex.

But then there was Travis.

I wasn’t a virgin when we slept together despite how many times he teased me about it.

I’d been with someone years before. But after the firestorm that rained down on me over it, I’d sworn off sex, at least until I foundthe one.

Travis was definitelynotthe one. But he was so damn persistent. And even though he had the whole playboy thing going, we’d become friends.

And I was lonely.

And drunk.

And he was there.

Just like Carter is now.

A knot forms in my stomach. Is that why I feel the way I do? Because he’s here and I’m lonely?

Mixed emotions swirl through me, fear finally overpowering lust.

I shift away from him, doing my best to untangle myself from his viselike grip.

“Good morning.” He stretches, looking just as gorgeous as he always does. He gives me a smile that cuts me to the core, and my stomach flips and twists at what I see in his eyes. Acceptance. Desire. Affection.

I shouldn’t let him affect me the way I do. I fight the explosion of emotions that threaten to take me hostage, linking me to this man emotionally, in ways I never thought possible.

It’s so easy to freeze up behind my fears, but the way he’s watching me, there’s that familiar ache I get with him, the one that urges me to just let go.

Sitting up, self-consciously I comb my fingers through my knotted hair.

“Morning,” I mutter, fidgeting.

He lifts himself on his elbows, smile gone now, only concern evident there. Blue eyes, dark and stoic watch me.

I wish I could do the same, but I’m pretty sure he can read every thought, every emotion on my face.

“How long are you back for?” I move off the bed and walk to my closet, needing the distance to gather my thoughts.

His gaze is intense when he says, “As long as I need to be.”

I don’t know what that means. But I’m too damn scared to ask.

Why would he need to be here? For me?

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