Page 68 of The Best Thing He Never Wanted

She kept hold of his hand as she led him through the house, toward the stairs, and every step of the way she was acutely aware of him behind her. Not because he said anything—of course he didn't—but somehow every step seemed to carry a question with it. Halfway up the stairs she glanced back at him and seeing him watching her almost stopped her.

It wasn't that she'd changed her mind—quite the opposite. It was the look in his eyes that made her heart pound harder. There was nothing casual in that look, but there was no assumption in it either. He was following because she'd asked him to, and somehow that made her want him there even more.

“Are you still coming?” she asked.

One eyebrow rose. “You trying to get rid of me already?”

“No.” She smiled and tugged on his hand. “Just checking.”

His fingers tightened around hers. “Then keep going.”

Oh my goodness. She turned before he could see the effect those three perfectly ordinary words had on her and carried on up the stairs.

Her bedroom looked different when they walked into it together, and that was ridiculous. Nothing had changed since she'd shown him around this afternoon. Her suitcase still sat near the wardrobe, half unpacked. The balcony doors were closed now, the curtains still open to the darkness beyond. And the bed… The bed was exactly where it had been. It was still only a bed, and she just wished that her heart would take note of that. Because right now…

Blane stopped just inside the door, and she swallowed as she turned to face him. For a moment, neither of them moved.

“Well,” she said.

His mouth twitched.

“Don't!”

“Didn't say anything.”

“You didn't need to. I'm well aware that well wasn't one of my more dazzling conversation openings.”

“Thought you did a pretty good job downstairs of getting us started on this conversation.”

The warmth in his eyes made her smile. “I did rather talk my way up to it, didn't I?”

“Worked for me.”

She laughed, and just like that, some of the nerves loosened their grip. She went to him, and this time she kissed him first, and there was something delicious about that, too. About rising up onto her toes and curling her arms around his shoulders because she wanted to and feeling his hands settle at her waist in response.

He didn't direct her, didn't decide a thing for her, didn't try to lead at all. He was only following. And for some reason, that distinction mattered. She had no idea why it mattered so much, only that it did.

He kissed her slowly at first, as though there was no hurry now that they were here. Bea had expected the opposite. She'd thought that the moment they reached the bedroom, all the restraint they'd been congratulating themselves on would disappear. Some of it had—there was certainly nothing restrained about the way her body responded when his hand moved over her back, or the way she pressed closer when he kissed her neck. As for Blane, it seemed his Wranglers were doing a good job of restraining the hardness pressing against her. But he wasn't rushing, and neither was she.

And that might have been the most surprising thing of all. She'd imagined this moment. Of course she had—though she'd deny it under oath, if anyone other than herself ever asked. But in those imaginings, there had always been nerves, there'd been an awkwardness. Because even in imagination—or fantasy, if you wanted to call it that, and she probably should—the reality of getting naked with a new man, when she hadn't been naked with any new man for the better part of forty years, was uncomfortable, to say the least.

There was some of that now, of course there was. But mostly, there was Blane, and she was starting to relax into Blane being Blane, and her being comfortable with him. At least she was comfortable with him until he reached for the hem of her top. She caught his hand without meaning to.

He stopped immediately. He didn’t freeze, didn’t withdraw, he simply stopped and looked at her.

And for one horrible second, Bea wanted to laugh at herself. She was the one who’d brought him upstairs. She was the one who’d kissed him, who’d all but announced that the better view was available only by way of her bedroom, and now apparently, she was going to develop a sudden attachment to her clothes.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“No, I know. I just…” She blew out a breath. “It’s been a very long time since anyone new saw this body without any clothes on.”

His expression changed. She couldn’t read it. It wasn’t amusement, nor was it the kind of pity she half feared.

His gaze moved over her face. “Same body I’ve been wanting to get my hands on since London.”

She stared at him. “That was almost smooth.”