Perfect Strangers

25

The way he keeps calling me sweetheart is screwing with my mind.

Or is it my heart?

“Talk to me,” he says, brushing his lips over mine. “You’re all up in your head. How do you feel?”

“I feel…” Scared. Confused. Satisfied. Thirsty. Worn out. And I need to pee. “Um…I feel good.”

James surprises me by throwing back his head and laughing.

“What?” I ask, a little defensive.

“I think the only time you’re unflinchingly honest with me is when I’ve got my hand between your legs is what. You want to try that again?”

I grouse, “Stop grinning at me like that. It’s not exactly easy for me to talk about my feelings.”

His smile dies. With the speed of two fingers snapping, he grows somber, staring at me with a furrow dug between his brows. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

I stare at him, helpless against his devastating combination of sweet sensitivity and raw masculinity. How is this perfect man single?

I drop my head against his chest and sigh. “Okay, here goes. For starters, I feel—physically—amazing. I mean, wow, James. You’ve reduced me to a smoking pile of ashes. That was incredibly intense.”

When I pause, he says quietly, “I’m glad. Thank you for trusting me. It means a lot to me. You have no idea how special that is, and how much of a turn on it is for me to watch you fall apart under my hands.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “Someone’s feeding you lines through an earpiece, aren’t they? You’ve got a team of script writers on call 24/7, and right now they’re frantically scribbling the most outrageously romantic things they can think of and whispering them into your ear. Right?”

“Oh yes,” he says seriously. “It costs a pretty penny, mind you, but it’s totally worth it.”

When I peek up at his face, he’s biting his full lower lip and trying hard not to smile.

He’s so handsome it hurts.

In the dim of the apartment, with only the moonglow and the city lights shining through the windows to light his face, he looks like something from a dream. Part myth and part man, a visiting angel sent in all his dark beauty to dazzle me with his charms.

The swell of emotion I felt earlier returns and begins to expand inside my chest. My heartbeat picks up a notch. I have the strangest sensation of weightlessness, as if gravity has vanished and I’m floating in outer space with nothing holding me down to the ground.

His gaze locks onto mine, and those blue, blue eyes of his…they do what they do best.

Burn.

“Tell me the rest,” he demands in a rough tone, all teasing gone. “Tell me what you’re feeling right this second.”

My lips part. The words are whispered as I gaze into the endless depths of his eyes. “Every single thing I thought I’d never feel again.”

His face contorts. He looks as if I’ve just stabbed him in the gut.

When he looks away, drawing a deep breath, I go cold with horror. What the hell have I done?

“It’s my turn to apologize,” I say stiffly, trying to sit up. “That was over the top. We’re not supposed to be getting person—”

“Stop.”

He grabs my arms and holds me in place so I can’t stand. We sit in silence for a moment as I listen to his irregular breathing and watch the erratic rise and fall of his chest. Then he swallows and slowly exhales, and I catch a glimpse of how hard he’s trying to hold himself together.

“What we just did is about as personal as it gets, regardless of whether or not we exchange histories.” A muscle flexes in his jaw. His voice turns gravelly. “I love that you said that. It was just...unexpected.” His eyes close. “This whole thing is unexpected. I’m afraid I’m not handling it very well.”

I’m drenched in shame. Burning with it. All my skin is peeling off, eaten away by the acid of humiliation.

I took something insanely sexy and fun and turned it into melodrama, and for that I’d like to punch myself in the face.

“I guess I’m not either,” I say, my voice tight. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

He swings his head around and stares at me with that same gut-stabbed look. “No, it’s not a bad idea,” he says urgently, pulling me closer to his chest. “Please don’t say that.”

I crinkle my brow, utterly confused. “James, you’re going to have to help me out here. You asked me to be totally honest with you. You asked me to tell you my feelings, and I did. Then you freaked out. Then I freaked out because you freaked out. And now…” I huff in frustration. “I honestly don’t know what’s happening now.”

He rests his cheek against my forehead and quietly sighs, gathering me close against his body and tucking my head into the crook of his neck. “What’s happening is that I’m a f*****g idiot.”

When it becomes obvious that’s the only explanation I’ll get, I say drily, “Oh good. That explains everything, thanks.”

He lifts his head and slants me a heated look. “Someone’s looking for her ass to get spanked.”

I smile sweetly at him. “No, actually I’m looking for a neck brace, because these mood swings of yours are giving me a serious case of whiplash.”

I’m about to add another smart remark along the lines of “Did you forget to take your medication?” when I realize that might be a legitimate question.

He could be medicated. He could be completely unhinged for all I know.

His eyes narrow. “If you’re thinking I’m a serial killer or something, the answer is no.”