or pull her away she wasn’t sure...and didn’t really care. Because she was already on the move. Down his abdomen, following a thin, fascinating trail of hair.
The muscles of her stomach turned inside out, clenching and releasing, a terrible excitement building deep inside her.
The moment of truth.
She went down on her knees, the water on the floor of the shower warm and wet. Just like his skin. Just like between her legs. Closing her eyes, she kissed his thigh, his arousal brushing intimately along the side of her cheek as she drew her tongue in a slow arc up to his hip.
The hand in her hair tightened fractionally, drawing her back toward the middle.
“I want your mouth,” he whispered.
Chloe froze, familiar pressure crowding her chest, obstructing her throat.
She’d been planning to. And she wanted it. More than anything. She parted her lips and started to lean forward, but the past wouldn’t release its grip on her airway. Her breath came in terrifying gusts, her lungs sucking down every drop of oxygen they could find. Fear began to paralyze her body, shutting down one muscle group after another.
Her lids squeezed together. “I can’t.” A half-sob came out. “I can’t. I can’t.”
The second he let go of her hair, she lurched to her feet, forcing her legs to move.
Move, move, move.
She ran, her feet slipping once, before she regained her balance, her only goal: escape.
* * *
Brad caught her before she reached the door, damning himself to hell for his mistake. The second his arms wrapped around her waist, she broke into wrenching sobs that gutted him, branded him the worst kind of fiend. He’d been so caught up in the moment, in the exotic sensation of her lips brushing across his skin, that he’d forgotten she wasn’t like the women he normally went after. And Chloe had paid the price.
“Shh.” Still holding her, he lowered himself to the floor, ignoring the chill of the marble, until he had her cradled in his lap, her head pressed into his shoulder as she continued to cry. “It’s okay. God, Chloe, I’m sorry. I never should have...” He closed his eyes, his throat working against the flow of emotions.
What had he been thinking? He’d known all along he was not the right man for this job. He’d just proved himself right.
He kissed the top of her head as her sobs slowed, tightening his grip to make sure she didn’t try to run again, his hand stroking up and down her back. “Talk to me. Please.”
“I wanted to...but Travis...” Her voice cracked between words.
Something from one of their earlier conversations came to mind. The whole talk of being frigid, the affairs with other women. “What did he do, Chloe?”
She shook her head, avoiding his gaze.
“Tell me.” He forced his voice to remain soft, trying to coax it out of her.
“He m-made me do things.”
He blinked then, as her meaning took hold, raw fury rose in his chest filling his head. “He forced you?”
Her head tilted back and watery eyes met his. “No, he didn’t rape me. But he would tell me what he wanted, and then when I tried to do them...it hurt. Or...” she licked her lips “...I couldn’t breathe.”
Which explained exactly what had happened in the shower. What kind of bastard got his kicks from hurting someone like Chloe? “Why didn’t you tell someone or leave him?”
Her shoulders rose and fell. “I was convinced it was me. And our marriage was good in most other areas.” Her eyes closed. “At least, I thought it was. And I felt trapped, like there was no escape.”
Trapped. Just like he’d felt when locked in that closet as a child. Just like he felt now when any relationship started to go on for too long. And like Chloe, he’d never told anyone about what had happened...until Jason had asked about the padlock hanging open on the back door of his house. Locked doors still made him edgy, even today. Would it be the same for Chloe with sex?
He looked down into her eyes. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Ever. Do you understand me?”
“I wanted to. That’s just it. I wanted it to be good for you. I just...couldn’t.”
“Me being with you makes it good, Chloe. I get pleasure out of your pleasure.”
He watched as she digested that piece of information. When her brows puckered, and she appeared doubtful, he leaned back against the wall with a sigh, carrying her with him. “When I do something that makes you whimper, when you return my kisses—when my touch makes you fall apart. That’s what gives me pleasure.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
She scrubbed the back of her arm over her eyes. “I’m sorry. For taking off like that.”
He gave a soft laugh. “You scared me.”
She touched his face. “Can we try again?”
Was she serious? He’d already screwed up once. Didn’t trust himself not to do so again in the heat of the moment.
She reached up, her thumb brushing across his lower lip. “Please, Brad. I need to erase the bad memories and replace them with good ones.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated. He’d already told himself this was the end—that he was all wrong for this kind of thing—but her heartfelt words and the fact that his body was responding to her touch in a way that was impossible to hide made him rethink his decision. If he said he didn’t want to, she’d know he was lying, and the rejection might damage her more than she already was.
Helping her up, he went and switched off the shower then picked up two towels. Slinging one around his waist, he used the second one to dry Chloe off, patting every inch of her body then sliding the soft towel under and over her right breast, the nipple tightening as he did so. He repeated the act on the other side and lingered there until she leaned into the friction, her eyes fluttering closed.
His body responded instantly, and he put his mouth to her ear. “That’s what gets my motor running.” He dropped the towel to the floor and scooped her up in his arms and carried her off to bed.
* * *
Chloe rolled over, her breathing ragged, while his senses were still firing like crazy.
Brad followed her, leaning on one elbow as he stared down at her flushed cheeks, the faint sheen of perspiration on her brow. He’d allowed her to find her own way this time, although it had nearly killed him, his body straining under the pressure of keeping still. The result had been well worth it.
He might never recover, in fact.
Experienced or
