I gulped, having no idea what kind of promises to make him.
Slowly, he set a knee on the bed, hesitation taking over his movements as he climbed to hover over me.
Caging me in.
As if I were the wild one that needed to be tamed.
Those eyes searched my face.
Almost painfully.
“What’s wrong?” The question felt raw in my throat. And I realized I was already in too deep when a ripple of terror washed over me at the thought of what the answer might be.
His throat bobbed, and he was watching me as if he was in shock, the words choked as he forced them out. “I’ve never had a woman in my bed before. In my personal space.”
My fingertips fluttered across his strong chest. “Do you want me to leave?”
There was no shame in my question. No rejection. Because I saw no hardness in his eyes. I only saw stark vulnerability vibrating with the power of the man.
He grabbed me by the hand and pressed my knuckles to his plush, soft lips. Mouth open as he kissed each one. “No . . . what scares me most is that I want you to stay. That I want things with you that I’ve never wanted before.”
“Is it wrong that I want to stay?” My gaze roamed his striking face, his expression so different than I’d ever seen it before.
Open and raw. A room with the most magnificent view.
“Is it wrong that every time I’m with you,” I continued, “I feel different? Beautiful and strong?”
“That’s because you are.” He threaded his fingers through my soaking wet hair. “Angel Girl.”
My teeth tugged at my bottom lip. “Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Because the night I chased you out and saw you fall, that’s what I saw on the ground . . . an angel. I don’t want to be the one to taint that goodness.”
A frown marred his brow. “It’s crazy that I even want to be in your light. I usually run from it. As far as I can. You’re exactly the type of girl I stay away from. And when it comes to you, the only thing I want is more. Again and again. What scares me most is I’m not sure I could ever get enough.”
A burst of heat blazed across my flesh. Unable to stop myself, I arched toward him. “Take all you want.”
Possession rumbled in his chest. “You shouldn’t offer things like that. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
God, he was rough. So raw and brittle and, still, he was melting something inside me. Goodness shining out from beneath all that brash.
“I think I’m willing to take the chance.”
Something hard flashed in his eyes. “Awful brave of you, considering you don’t know me. Believe me, when you do, you’ll go running.”
“Isn’t that what taking a chance is all about?” I gave him a small nudge, and he rolled onto his back. I started to move over him, stalling out when I caught sight of him laid on his back in his bed looking like a drawing.
A masterpiece.
Impossible.
My mouth was back to watering, and I slowly straddled him, loving the feel of those hands when they slipped around my sides.
I dipped down, wanting to kiss him, wanting to respect him. I let my lips tumble along the scruff on his jaw. I ran them all the way up to his ear. “Doing this again and again. Day after day. Getting to know each other. Figuring out if we fit. That’s what taking a chance means.”
I forced an edge of playfulness into my tone. “Just be careful not to go falling in love with me, Ian Jacobs.”
He tightened his hold on my hips, so much sincerity in his voice that I broke a little more. “Don’t much have the capacity for that. But if I did? If I were capable of it? I think I’d already be in love with you.”
“I think it’s you who needs not to be saying those things to me,” I whispered.
Fingertips traced the curve of my cheek, his expression something close to awe. “Think I’m a goner, baby.”
My chest stretched tight. Break. Break. Break. I was the goner.
Humorless laughter rolled from him as he studied me through the shadows. “I don’t even know you. Did you always want to cut hair?”
There it was. My opening. An open door. I shifted so I could lay down at his side, preparing myself to find the right place in this conversation to tell him.
It wouldn’t be a confession. No shame.
It was the claim of my life.
I let my fingertips play across the deep grooves and flat planes of his abdomen. “No, I didn’t.”
Shyness weaved into my tone. “I’ve always wanted to write children’s books.”
He brushed his fingers down my arm, and I could feel his tender smile, and my spirit shivered with the realization that I was right about him.
I cuddled closer, letting my mind and my voice wander. “These outrageous stories have always come out of me. As a little girl, I’d imagined them novels, that I was writing the next epic fantasy, but really, they were fantastical stories that at the heart were nothing but simple. Simple stories about growing up. The fears and hopes and dreams that come along with it.”
I dared to look up at him again. Ian was watching me so tenderly, something melted in the middle of me. “And of course, they have a dash of adventure to get you there.”
“You’re a dreamer,” he mused, as if he’d just caught on. As if I all of a sudden completely made sense.
“Aren’t we all?” I asked quietly.
He huffed out a strained sigh that billowed toward the ceiling, his attention cast there, as if he were getting drawn back to a simpler time, too. “I used to be. Until the day all my dreams dried up.”
He glanced down at me, a bold flash in that intense stare. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not driven. That I’m not chasing after a goal. That I won’t do everything it takes to achieve it.”
My brow pinched, and I shifted a little so I could look at him better. “Isn’t that the same thing?”
“No.” There was no hesitation, just the grim set of his mouth. “Dreaming only ever gets you hurt. A goal is acting on a calculated risk.”
Confusion wound through me, and I shifted more so I was almost completely facing him. I had the overwhelming urge to dig deeper, push through, feeling myself butting up against a wall.
Taking a chance, I reached out and played with a lock of that soft, soft hair.
“I don’t even know what you do,” I told him, inviting him to let me in. To ask me to meet him there. I let my attention traipse around the luxury of his bedroom. “Although whatever it is, it looks like you’re doing just fine for yourself.”
He’d been there at that fundraiser, no doubt an investor or bigwig at some corporation, doing exactly what he’d assumed about me that night.
Putting on a show.
Making himself and whatever company he owned look good.
What had struck me most was how bitter he’d seemed about it. As if he were angry anyone would show up there at all.
His fingers roamed down my side, his voice casual. “I’m an attorney.”
That was the thing about shock.
It was instant.
And that was the very second my heart froze in the middle of my chest before it took off at a sprint. Running wild. It dragged the thoughts in my mind right along with it.
He is an attorney.
Oh, God, he is an attorney.
Ian must have caught onto the way my world had started to spin because his tone twisted into what was close to a question. “I’m one step away from being partner at Millstrom, Garcia & Grant. But I won’t be stopping there. Soon, I’ll be in control of everything. The firm, the biggest clients, making sure I’m getting a cut of the biggest cases. Everyone in this city will come to me.”
It was strange that I’d never even considered it. He just seemed so . . . different than what I’d anticipated of one of the stuffy attorneys I’d been hunting down.
And I definitely hadn’t come across his name, considering I’d only looked up the names of partners at firms when I’d gone on my search. Seeking out powerful names that might be willing to take down an even more powerful empire.
When I’d been crawling around on my knees begging for anyone to listen.