he had not felt for a very long time. At home. As if he belonged. As if finally, in this world, there was one place, one person who could accept him for what he was.
He contemplated the temptation to tell her more, not sure if a man could put things back the way they used to be after he had experienced such a thing as this.
And it felt like a weakness that he could not fight and that he was not sure if he wanted to.
Damn it, he wanted to. He could not give in to this.
But then, his hand that rested on the wetness of her cheek went, it seemed of its own volition, to the puffiness of her lip. He traced the fullness of it with his thumb, took in the wideness of her eyes, the gentle puff of her breath touching his thumb.
I’m going to kiss her, he thought, entranced. Dismayed.
He snapped back from her, dropped his hand from the full and exquisite temptation of her lips.
But she wasn’t having it. When he pulled away, she stretched forward. She had clearly seen what he would have loved to have kept hidden. In every sense.
Her lips grazed his. Tender. Soft. Supple.
Sexy.
It took every ounce of his considerable discipline to pull away from her. He got to his feet, abruptly, aware if he stayed on that couch with her he was not going to be fully in control of what happened next.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” he said gruffly.
“Why?” she said softly.
She knew why. She knew she was crashing through his barriers faster than he could rebuild them.
“It was inappropriate. I apologize.”
“I think it was me who kissed you. And I’m not apologizing.”
“Molly, you have no idea what you are playing with,” he told her softly, sternly.
“Maybe I do.”
As if she saw him more clearly than he saw himself! Just because he had told her one thing. He didn’t like it that he had told her that. That brief moment of feeling unburdened, not so damned lonely, was swiftly changing to regret.
“I have work to do,” he said, hardened himself to what these moments had made him feel, turned and walked away, shutting the door firmly behind him.
But he didn’t go back to Second Chances, despite his claim he had work to do. He also had no work at home, not even his laptop. He didn’t even feel compelled to check his BlackBerry. Life could go on without him for one evening.
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