Her ankle was throbbing, but all Emma could think about was the way it felt to be pressed up against Nick’s wide chest.
She knew she should keep protesting, even if it meant being pulled away from his warmth—and all the sensations she had because of it. She’d said she would walk, and he’d taken that decision away from her.
It was infuriating. It was everything she’d left home to get away from.
But then again, it was part of the reason she was so wildly attracted to him. He did what he wanted, when he wanted. She knew it wasn’t fair to compare them, but she couldn’t help thinking of Matthew—the man she’d been set to marry had always thought first of what others would think.
“If I put you down, are you going to take off again?” When she gazed up at him Emma noted, with surprise, a few subtle threads of silver around his temples. He couldn’t have been much older than her, so she wondered what had put them there.
How could she feel such a strong pull toward someone she didn’t know?
She nodded.
“I’m putting you down now,” Nick warned. They’d reached a dark-red pickup truck that didn’t appear to have been washed in the last decade. For some reason that made her smile—appearances clearly didn’t mean that much to him. “Don’t run.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Running would mean that she didn’t want to be there, when in truth there was nowhere else she’d rather be.
What was wrong with her?
“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” Nick snorted inelegantly as, with her still in his arms, he opened the passenger door. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman so eager to get away from me.”
“I’m not eager to get away from you.” Emma grimaced as, biceps flexing, he settled her gently onto the seat and her ankle protested. Her new perch brought her face level with his, so she was able to see the change in his eyes, the chaos behind the deep whiskey color quieting, coming to a focus—a focus on her.
His stare roamed her face, as though he couldn’t quite figure out what to make of her. Awareness prickled everywhere his gaze touched, bringing a flush to her skin.
She wanted to kiss him. It made no logical sense, and was probably a knee-jerk reaction to the turmoil in her life, but it didn’t change what she wanted.
She wanted to be like him, the kind of person who wanted something and reached out for it with both hands.
But she’d just broken an engagement, left her proper, perfect life behind and flown across the continent to meet the father she’d never known she had. So maybe she was the kind of person to take what she wanted.
“Something on your mind, Peaches?” He smirked at her, though she was still the object of that laser-sharp focus. He wanted her, she knew he did, but for some reason he was holding back.
It was up to her, then. Before she could think about it anymore, she placed her hands on his shoulders. His expression went wary, but he didn’t pull away when she ran a hand up the back of his neck, testing, then feathered it through the short hair at the base of his skull.
“Emma,” he said. That was all—just her name.
She liked the sound of it on his lips.
Eyes wide open, she leaned forward, giving him time to pull away. He didn’t, and in the moment before her lips brushed over his she heard a quiet sigh, one that sounded like relief.
Then her lips were on his, and all she could do was feel.
His mouth was hot and dry against hers. He held still, holding his breath as she exhaled against him, then started to pull away.
His hand on her cheek stopped her before she could break the kiss. Her pulse stuttered when the second hand joined the first, cupping her gently but firmly, pulling her back to him. Fingers stroking lightly, firmly, he took the kiss deeper, skilled lips claiming her.
His tongue swiped over the seam of her lips, and she parted for him on a sight moan, sinking deeper into the heat of his embrace. He dipped inside, taking the slightest taste, before pulling back entirely.
She blinked up at him, her breath coming faster as he studied her face, his hands still cradling her cheeks. She could see the confusion in his features—felt it herself—and was both relieved and pained when he let her go.
“Wow,” she breathed to herself after he’d helped her shift on the seat, tucking her injured ankle inside and closing the door firmly after. Warily, she eyed his lean frame as he rounded the hood of the car, then opened the driver’s seat, swung himself in, and started the ignition, all without saying a word.
She’d wanted to kiss him, but she hadn’t expected that.