flashed into her mind’s eye. Jefferies was a wolf parading in a civilized man’s clothing.
Why do men have to be such animals sometimes?
“I’m sorry, Jacob. I’m sorry for prying,” she said, miserable that she’d forced him to talk about a past that obviously still hurt him.
She started to turn away but he caught her hand.
“Are you all right?” he asked her pointedly.
A sharp pain went through her, that he would ask about her well-being when he’d been the one recounting something that still made him ache.
“I’m fine,” she assured. She squeezed his hand. “Let’s go up to bed.”
* * *
She showered quickly in the guest bathroom and came to bed wearing the black nightgown. Jacob probably didn’t want to make love, after what had just happened out at the pool, but she didn’t have anything else to wear.
Harper, on the other hand, experienced a sharp longing to have his arms around her, to have him deep inside her . . . to have him take her places where only he could. That was just selfishness, though. She felt heartsore, thinking of Regina, thinking of Jacob . . .
Always thinking of Jacob . . .
The drapes had been drawn on the floor-to-ceiling windows. The large suite was dim and hushed. He was already in bed when she came out of the bathroom. He laid back on the pillows, elbows bent, hands behind his head, dense biceps bulging. His torso was bare. The pose highlighted his chiseled upper body, powerful chest, the mouthwatering diagonal from trim waist to broad shoulders, emphasizing his power even in a relaxed moment. He’d been staring up at the ceiling, but when he saw her coming, his gaze flickered down over her without moving his head. Her skin prickled beneath his stare. When she reached the bed, he rolled on his side and flipped back the sheet and duvet, inviting her in.
She slid between the cool sheets next to him.
For a charged moment, they just lay on their sides, facing each other. His face was shadowed, but she could just make out a few amber pinpricks of light in his hazel eyes.
“You’re like Regina.”
His lips had moved, and she’d heard his quiet, deep voice, but for a moment, she couldn’t compute what he’d said.
“What do you mean?” A horrible thought struck her, taking her breath away for a moment. “Do you mean . . . do you mean that
Regina
is the woman I remind you of?” she asked, aghast.
“No.
God,
no,” he said, his brows slanting. He reached and cupped the side of her head with his hand. “I mean that you’ve been hurt before by a man.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I could see it out there at the pool when I told you about Regina and Clint. You looked like you were going to be sick.”
She swallowed thickly. “It’s nothing,” she whispered.
“Tell me.”
She blinked at his intensity. “It’s nothing, Jacob. Nothing like what I’m imagining Regina experienced. I’ve never been raped, thank God,” she whispered fervently. “It’s just . . . men can be so . . .” She winced. “
Evil
sometimes to women.” She met his stare, guilt swooping through her. “I’m sorry. Not all men—”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. What you say is true. I wish it wasn’t, but it is too often.”
A tense silence settled. He continued to stroke her cheek gently with his thumb. They just stared into each other’s eyes as a bedside clock ticked gently, so many unsaid words, so many anxieties, so much longing seeming to swirl around them. That ache in her chest swelled.
His thumb moved, now drying a single fallen tear off her cheek. The conflict inside her grew untenable: her sadness for some of the harsh realities of life clashing with her overpowering desire for him.
“I feel guilty,” she said in a shaky burst of honesty.
“Why?”
“For wanting you to make love to me the way you do, for wanting you to restrain me and take me so hard that I can’ t think of anything else. I must be sick—”
Why do men have to be such animals sometimes?
“I’m sorry, Jacob. I’m sorry for prying,” she said, miserable that she’d forced him to talk about a past that obviously still hurt him.
She started to turn away but he caught her hand.
“Are you all right?” he asked her pointedly.
A sharp pain went through her, that he would ask about her well-being when he’d been the one recounting something that still made him ache.
“I’m fine,” she assured. She squeezed his hand. “Let’s go up to bed.”
* * *
She showered quickly in the guest bathroom and came to bed wearing the black nightgown. Jacob probably didn’t want to make love, after what had just happened out at the pool, but she didn’t have anything else to wear.
Harper, on the other hand, experienced a sharp longing to have his arms around her, to have him deep inside her . . . to have him take her places where only he could. That was just selfishness, though. She felt heartsore, thinking of Regina, thinking of Jacob . . .
Always thinking of Jacob . . .
The drapes had been drawn on the floor-to-ceiling windows. The large suite was dim and hushed. He was already in bed when she came out of the bathroom. He laid back on the pillows, elbows bent, hands behind his head, dense biceps bulging. His torso was bare. The pose highlighted his chiseled upper body, powerful chest, the mouthwatering diagonal from trim waist to broad shoulders, emphasizing his power even in a relaxed moment. He’d been staring up at the ceiling, but when he saw her coming, his gaze flickered down over her without moving his head. Her skin prickled beneath his stare. When she reached the bed, he rolled on his side and flipped back the sheet and duvet, inviting her in.
She slid between the cool sheets next to him.
For a charged moment, they just lay on their sides, facing each other. His face was shadowed, but she could just make out a few amber pinpricks of light in his hazel eyes.
“You’re like Regina.”
His lips had moved, and she’d heard his quiet, deep voice, but for a moment, she couldn’t compute what he’d said.
“What do you mean?” A horrible thought struck her, taking her breath away for a moment. “Do you mean . . . do you mean that
Regina
is the woman I remind you of?” she asked, aghast.
“No.
God,
no,” he said, his brows slanting. He reached and cupped the side of her head with his hand. “I mean that you’ve been hurt before by a man.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I could see it out there at the pool when I told you about Regina and Clint. You looked like you were going to be sick.”
She swallowed thickly. “It’s nothing,” she whispered.
“Tell me.”
She blinked at his intensity. “It’s nothing, Jacob. Nothing like what I’m imagining Regina experienced. I’ve never been raped, thank God,” she whispered fervently. “It’s just . . . men can be so . . .” She winced. “
Evil
sometimes to women.” She met his stare, guilt swooping through her. “I’m sorry. Not all men—”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. What you say is true. I wish it wasn’t, but it is too often.”
A tense silence settled. He continued to stroke her cheek gently with his thumb. They just stared into each other’s eyes as a bedside clock ticked gently, so many unsaid words, so many anxieties, so much longing seeming to swirl around them. That ache in her chest swelled.
His thumb moved, now drying a single fallen tear off her cheek. The conflict inside her grew untenable: her sadness for some of the harsh realities of life clashing with her overpowering desire for him.
“I feel guilty,” she said in a shaky burst of honesty.
“Why?”
“For wanting you to make love to me the way you do, for wanting you to restrain me and take me so hard that I can’ t think of anything else. I must be sick—”
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