She read the truth in his eyes. “You didn’t.”
“He was a kid. We had nothing in common.”
“You feel guilty.”
“Maybe,” he admitted.
“Is finding Ashley going to make up for what you didn’t do while he was alive?”
“No,” he said simply, “but it might let me sleep at night.”
His pain called to her. Maybe it was a female thing. Maybe it was a mom thing. Or maybe it was just how she felt when she was around him. Regardless of the cause, she put down her drink and moved closer.
“It’s not your fault,” she said, cupping his face in her hands and staring into his dark eyes. “You didn’t kill him.”
“It should have been me.”
“You keep saying that. It’s not as if the bullet had your name on it. It was circumstances, a quirk of fate. Yes, it’s horrible that Ben’s dead, but your suffering doesn’t bring him back. Based on the little you’ve told me about him, he wouldn’t want you doing it, either.”
“I don’t know. I think he might get a kick out of it.”
“Don’t be smart with me, mister.”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “Or you’ll what?”
In less time that it took for light to travel across the room, the mood shifted. What had been friendly and sharing became charged with emotion and sexual energy.
She was aware of how close they were, how she leaned against him and how her fingers touched his face. She could feel his heat and the stubble on his cheeks. His gaze locked with hers, drawing her in, grabbing her with the erotic threat of never letting her go.
Suddenly she didn’t want to be let go. She was tired of being sensible and thinking things through. Yes, he was the wrong man, but so what? She was used to that. She would deal with the consequences later.
She shifted so that she was on her knees, then dropped her hands to his shoulders. At the same time, she leaned in and pressed her mouth against his.
He had to have known what she was going to do and for a second she wondered if he would resist. But the instant her mouth brushed his, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap. Then she was sprawled across him, his tongue in her mouth and his hands everywhere.
He kissed her deeply, sensually, plunging into her as he mimicked the act of lovemaking. At the same time, he ran his palms up and down her legs. His long fingers seemed to touch every inch of her as they moved teasingly close to the apex of her thighs, then drifted away.
She clung to him, needing to hold something solid as her mind darted from sensation to sensation. She hadn’t been with a man since she’d left Neil and given birth to Zoe. Long-dead nerve endings exploded to life and begged for the sustenance of Walker’s touch.
Her br**sts swelled and her ni**les got so hard, they hurt. Between her legs she felt a gush of moisture. Her insides were heavy.
He broke the kiss and nibbled his way along her jaw. She tilted her head to give him more access, inviting him to continue. At the same time she longed to rip off her clothes so they could get right to it. She was ready—hell, she’d been ready for years.
He put his hands on her waist and urged her to sit up. Not sure what he was doing, she complied, only to have him shift toward the center of the sofa and then position her so she straddled him.
At first the beauty of the situation escaped her. Then, as she leaned in to kiss him and she felt his hands slide from her waist up her rib cage, it all became clear.
Even as his tongue circled hers, teasing, playing, inviting, he cupped her br**sts. His large hands covered her curves. Exquisite pressure had her moaning. Every inch of her was so sensitized, she thought she might pass out from the pleasure of him touching her like that. When he brushed his thumbs against her ni**les, it was all she could do not to scream.
Sensation rocked her. Her skin was on fire, yet she was so hungry, nothing was enough. She deepened their kisses, needing everything he had for her. He met her demands and clamped his lips around her tongue, then sucked hard.
More, she thought frantically. She needed more.
He read her mind, or maybe just the way she writhed against him. While he kept one hand on her breast, he moved the other between her legs.
Even through the layers of panties and jeans, she felt the pressure of his fingers. She pressed down and he pressed up and when he found that one spot of pleasure, she groaned.
A very tiny, sensible part of her brain told her this was not a good idea. That she would regret this later. But the part of her that had done without for so long didn’t really give a damn.
So when he unfastened the button on her jeans, she didn’t protest. And when he moved her to one side, she helped push them down. And when he slipped to the floor between her legs, turned to face her and bent low to kiss her intimately between her thighs, she could only breathe a prayer of thanksgiving.
The man knew what he was doing, she thought in relief as he pressed his tongue against her swollen center. He moved slowly, leisurely, forcing her to keep pace with him when her choice would have been to run as fast as possible to the finish.
He circled around, then returned to that one spot and began to lick it over and over. At the same time, he slipped a finger inside of her and rotated it.
One finger. That was all, but it was enough. Her muscles clamped around it and held on. Deep in her belly she felt a pulsing kind of tension. The kind that warned her she wasn’t going to hold on for very long.
“No,” she moaned. “Not yet.” She had to make this last longer than thirty seconds.