Read Online All He Really Needs by Emily McKay - Free Book Online Page B

her thought.
    “But you’re not a cruel man, so I don’t think it’s that you’re
laughing at people. It’s more like…just another way of keeping people at a
distance.”
    She kept her gaze pinned to the top button of his shirt while
she spoke, all too aware that she was just guessing about him but that her
guesses revealed as much about her as they did about him. If he was really
paying attention. And maybe he wasn’t.
    He gently cupped her chin and tipped it up so she met his gaze.
“Is that what you think? That I push people away?”
    It’s what I do.
    But she didn’t say that aloud. Instead, she asked, “Do
you?”
    “Doesn’t everybody?”
    “Yes, I suppose everybody does.”
    Suddenly this whole conversation felt way too intimate. Even
more intimate than the time they’d spent in bed together because that had been
about sex, not emotion. And if there was one thing she was good at, it was
separating her physical needs from her emotional needs.
    So—though she’d told herself that she wasn’t going to sleep
with him again now that he was her boss—she gave into every urge she’d been
suppressing for the past twenty-four hours. She threaded her fingers up through
his hair, luxuriating in the feel of the thick, long strands. She let herself
lean into him. And she inhaled deeply, letting the warm spicy scent of him
invade her senses.
    His hands clenched on her hips and this time she had no doubt
about his intention because he pulled her close to him, rocking his hips against
the juncture of her legs. He dipped his head down to her neck and left a trail
of kisses along the sensitive skin there.
    His breath was hot against her skin as he murmured, “Isn’t this
crossing that line you drew in the sand?”
    “Yes, damn it.” She wished he hadn’t brought it up, but she
couldn’t fault him for it, either. She was the one who’d set the boundary. She
couldn’t begrudge him for respecting her wishes, even if he was ignoring her
desires.
    She gave his waist a quick squeeze, relishing the way his
muscles clenched in response to her touch, and then she stepped back.
    She smoothed her hands down her sleek tan sweater and gave the
hem a tug. “What were we even talking about?”
    “Cain-blue eyes,” Griffin said easily, apparently less
befuddled than she was.
    Right. The Cain eyes.
    That was the discussion that had led her astray. And—she now
realized—she’d never even really responded to the comment. She’d gone and
rambled on and on about the shape of his eyes and the character of his smile,
but she’d never really admitted that, yes, he and Dalton had eyes that were
exactly the same piercing shade of blue. Not bright sky-blue or deep
indigo-blue, but an eerie sort of sea-blue, turquoise almost, pale in the center
with a dark ring of contrast.
    She knew intimately the shade of Griffin’s eyes—just as she
knew their shape. But she was only vaguely aware of what Dalton’s eyes looked
like.
    “Well,” she said brusquely, “even if we could see her eyes,
that would tell us nothing. The girl could have brown eyes and still be
Hollister’s daughter.”
    “Nah. If she’s Hollister’s daughter, she has blue eyes.”
    “You’re just assuming the girl’s mother didn’t have a brown-eye
gene to contribute to the pool?”
    Griffin waggled his hand in a maybe/maybe not gesture.
    “My instinct tells me that whoever she was, the girl’s mother
would have had blue eyes. My father definitely had a type. My mother, Cooper’s
mother and his other longtime mistress all looked like they could have been
sisters.”
    It took a second for the full meaning of his words to sink in.
When they did, she raised her eyebrows in question and asked, “Seriously?”
    He gave a dismissive shrug. “Yeah. He liked waifish blondes.
The more fragile-looking the better. And they were all blue-eyed.”
    She kept looking at him, waiting for him to pick up on her
train of thought. When he didn’t, she gave his