Page 27 of Edge of Whispers

I hung onto my control, sensing her caution and her longing, waiting patiently until caution and longing found their perfect balancing point, and ... ah. Yes.

Her eyes shut as my lips brushed hers. So lightly, so carefully. Tasting them. The contact made me gasp. She tasted like light. Incredible, electrifying. Her lips felt so soft and shy beneath mine. Trembling. A shimmering heat swelled inside my chest.

I explored her face with my fingertips, stroking her jaw, her throat. She drew in a sharp breath as my hand slid down her back, settling on the deep curve of her hip. Her nipples jutted against her blouse, and my fingers ached to brush over them, caress them.

I touched the first button, tugged it loose, revealing the hollow of her throat, and a warm cloud of her exotic, woodsy scent rose up. I wanted to gulp it in. To not waste a single precious breath of it.

I pulled her closer, kissing her jaw, her throat. My lips brushed over the gold of the pendant Lucia had given her, warmed by her body. My hand brushed over her breast. Her nipple brushed my palm. The little nub was hard, tight.

I deepened the kiss, my arm tightening around her, tasting her sweet flavor?—

Whoa. I felt it, the very second the door slammed shut inside her. One moment she was melting in my arms, her fingernails digging into my shirt. Then suddenly, she went stiff and arched away, rigid and brittle. I was so in tune with her, I could feel the alarm jangling inside her, like her surge of anxiety was my own.

I forced myself to let go. Eased back, hands clenched, giving her the space she needed. I was at it again, pushing and grabbing. It was a piss-poor time for this. I’d scolded myself for being a greedy dickhead already, but apparently, it hadn’t taken.

She was a complicated woman, grief stricken, stressed out, and I was being an asshole, forcing the issue. I had to struggle not to pant.

Fists clenched. Slow breathing. Don’t even look at her. Eyes straight ahead.

Minutes ticked by, measured by drops of water making their way down the windshield. By the ragged breathing I struggled to keep silent. By my pounding heart.

At length, I heard her rustling, the soft sounds of fabric shushing together. Buttoning her blouse, getting herself in order. A cough. Clearing her throat. “Ah . . . um, Liam? That was, ah?—”

“Amazing.” I stared fixedly at the lean-to, and the pattern of the carefully stacked wood for my fireplace beneath the eaves. “But I pushed you too hard. I’m sorry.”

She looked at her lap. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I sent out, um, mixed signals, I guess. But I didn’t mean to lead you on. Look, I need to get back. I need to talk to the cops about that letter, the jeweler, and clue my sisters into all these new developments. You’ve been great, and I appreciate the company, but I’m?—”

“Scared,” I said. “Of me. For some reason that I can’t imagine.”

She sighed. “Not of you.” Her voice was low. “You’re a good guy. I can feel that. I know it when I see it. It’s just ... well. Everything.”

“Yeah?” Frustration hardened my voice, despite my best efforts. “Everything’s not here in the cab of this truck, Nancy. It’s just me in here with you.”

She shook her head. “I just…I can’t.”

“It’s just a cup of tea,” I reminded her. “Not the end of the world.”

She let out a dubious snort. “You know exactly what would happen if I went into your house, Liam.”

“Yes, actually, I do. I’d pull up a chair for you, put the kettle on the stove. Rummage around in the pantry for that tin of ginger butter crisps that I know is in there somewhere. I already know that you take milk and sugar. I’d make pleasant conversation. Ask leading questions about your childhood. Say nice things about your eyes, your hair, your earlobes. I’d try my best to be witty and charming.”

“My earlobes?” A smile flickered on her face.

I nodded, willing it to be true. That scenario required iron-clad self-control.

“It sounds…very nice,” she said demurely. “But…oh, never mind.”

Yeah, she didn’t have to say it. I saw that alternative scenario, too. The one where my iron-clad control faltered, and I ended up peeling the clothes off her luscious, sinuous body, pinned her against the wall and pounded her until we both exploded.

My heart thudded as the fantasy roared through my head, uncontrollably vivid.

Cool it. The moment was so fragile. She was so sensitive to my every word, my every thought. The air between us was a shimmering force field, alive with possibilities.

I caught her eye flicking to my lap and then darting nervously away. Yeah, there it was. Exhibit A, the boner of the century, aching with each thud of my heart for the soft touch of that cool hand, gripping and squeezing me. Heat burned into my cheekbones.

I gave her a shrug that said, yeah, and so? Maybe I couldn’t control my body’s response to her, but I could by God control my actions. I wanted her to know that, beyond all doubt, but there was no good way to say it without overstating it, sounding stiff and stupid. Anything could blurt out of my open mouth. Better to keep it shut.

“I just need things to be … under control,” she whispered. “I have enough to be scared of right now without piling on, you know?”

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