Page 34 of You Rock My World
I’m stunned. He’d wait an entire year for me? Is he serious? “Wouldn’t that be too long for you?”
He tucks a stray lock behind my ear, his fingers brushing my cheek and leaving a trail of tingles in their wake. “I’ve already waited a year without you, Josie. Dreaming of all the things I’d do with you, to you…” His voice is low, intimate. “Being near you will make the waiting easier… and a hell of a lot harder. But totally worth it.”
“So you want to get to know me platonically?”
“No, I want to get to know youromantically,” Dorian replies, his eyes locked on mine, “but if we need to take things slow while we figure each other out, we’ll do it. If, with your job, you can’t be in a full relationship with me, we can leave the physical stuff out—no chances of being caught. Pretend we’re Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy and live in an era when sex before marriage is not accepted. We’ll be courting each other without any of the naughty stuff.”
I groan, shaking my head. “You did not just usePride and Prejudiceagainst me.” He grins, and I lose the resolve to resist him. “So no sex and no kisses?”
Dorian seems outraged. “Not even first base, Monroe? Be careful of what will be put on your tombstone.”
I laugh, and I’m not sure it isn’t giddy, or hysterical. “You’ll have to work for that home run, Phoenix.”
He leans in just a little, heat simmering in his voice. “Then let me earn it. All I ask is that you don’t see anyone else while we figure this out—and I won’t either. I want to explore this connection properly. Just us.”
As if there could ever be someone else. “Just us,” I echo. “I like the sound of that.”
Dorian stands up, his tall frame towering over me. He offers me his hands with a boyish grin on his face. “Are hugs allowed?”
I beam back at him as he pulls me up. “Yes, hugs are allowed.”
He steps closer and opens his arms. I go to him, and he pulls me into a warm embrace that has me melting into his chest as I inhale his forest scent.
I’m confused as to what I’ve agreed to, but I know I never want to let him go.
20
JOSIE
I never imagined a hug could be the most satisfying sexual experience of my life, but here I am.
At first, Dorian’s embrace is chaste. His arms anchor me to him, firm but careful. But then his hands begin to roam—up my back, down my arms, resting on my hips. His thumbs press into my flesh, igniting my skin, while my face burrows into his chest, soaking in his scent and the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
He draws small circles on my sides through the thin fabric of my dress, sending waves of electricity through my body. I sigh, my eyes fluttering closed as I savor the sensation.
Dorian’s hands travel upward, and he tilts my chin up, his gaze locking onto mine as he reaches up and undoes the topknot in my hair. He steals my elastic and loops it over his wrist. He never looks away, even as he smooths my disheveled locks, trailing his fingers between the strands. Every touch sends fire licking down my spine.
“Dorian.” My voice is unsteady, my mind reeling. “You hug a little too hard.”
A slow smile unzips across his face, his hands still tangled in my hair. “Am I being sanctioned?”
I move my hands from around his back, letting my fingers graze up his chest with featherlight strokes. His T-shirt does a poor job of hiding the hard muscles underneath, compelling me to explore. When he trembles at my touch, it’s a silent acknowledgment of my power over him that sends a thrill through me.
“I don’t think this amount of touching would’ve been acceptable in the Regency Era.” My lips brush close to his ear.
“Should I stop?”
I should tell him, yes, but it’s the last thing I want. My body betrays me, leaning infinitesimally closer, drawn to him as if magnetized, but I plead, “Please,” saying yes when I mean no.
He steps back, creating a sliver of distance between us, his hands still working through my hair. “I’ll be good, I promise,” he says, before placing a soft kiss on my forehead and letting go.
The gentle touch of his lips burns me, fire propagating from my hairline through my scalp, searing down my neck and shoulder blades, and then frying my nerves all the way down to my toes.
Dorian steps away completely, leaving me breathless and stunned. The sudden absence of his touch is a bucket of ice water dumped over my head, a numbing shock. I’m in a daze as he walks me to my car, holding my hand. The gesture feels both silly and meaningful. I glance down at our intertwined hands. His palm—dry, warm, reassuring—fits mine with a strangely familiar ease, as if we’ve done this a thousand times before. His hold on me is not possessive, or demanding, but certain. It’s nothing, and yet everything.
As we reach the patch of gravel in the front yard that his guests use as a makeshift parking lot, it’s clear neither of us wants to say goodbye. I reconsider all my wise choices—deciding not to kiss him, not to explore this attraction physically until we’re both sure. But certainty is a distant concept when my mind is a haze of confusion. One moment, I’m convinced I know what I want—him; the next, I doubt everything. Am I star-struck? Is he? Like not star-struck but high on some sort of Stockholm syndrome from that night? Is he too good to be true? Will he tire of me in no time? Will this intensity fade, leaving me with nothing but regrets? The questions pile on top of each other, making me unsteady and unsure. Yes, waiting is the smart thing to do.
As if reading my thoughts, Dorian cups my cheek, his touch gentle yet electric. “It sucks to have to wait, and it’s my fault. It’s going to be brutal—but I’m fully prepared to suffer dramatically and often if it is for you—forus.”
