Leaving Carlyne alone with Sean. She was so cold. Cold and sad. Oh, and destroyed, let’s not forget that, because in one foolish move she’d blown her chance for anything and everything she’d ever wanted.
She started to shake, though whether it was the chill, her wet clothes or grief, she hadn’t a clue.
Sean took one look at her, one really long look from head to toe. It was a look that might have made her melt with longing only a couple of hours ago, except all that heat she’d come to know had turned to quiet fury.
“Go change,” he said roughly, then turned away.
Her clothes weighed a ton, but she hadn’t explained, they hadn’t talked. Without knowing how to make this right, she followed him.
He went into Melissa’s bedroom. Kneeling by the bed, he reached out and smoothed the little girl’s covers, then gently touched her cheek.
Carlyne couldn’t see his expression, but there was tenderness pouring from him. Tenderness and tension.
Tension she’d given him.
Standing, he brushed past her and moved out of the room.
She caught up with him in the hallway. “Sean.”
Shocking her, he stopped, and she wondered how to begin. “We need to talk about it.”
Jaw tight, face grim, he sighed. “You’re shaking, dammit.”
“Because I’m afraid.”
A frown curved his mouth downward. “Not of me. I would never hurt you.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to lose the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Don’t.” His eyes closed, and she briefly glimpsed a world of pain behind his controlled temper. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
But she needed to. Needed to tell him how she’d meant to come clean sooner but hadn’t known how, needed to tell him how much she cared about him. “I-” A terrible bone-shaking tremor struck her, and she had to clamp her mouth shut, wrapping her arms around herself.
Sean turned away. “Go to bed, Carly. Princess,” he corrected immediately. “You can wait until morning to leave.”
But she couldn’t move.
“Go on,” he said harshly, and when she looked at him, he swore the hallway blue. He stalked toward her and swung her into his arms. Without a word, he strode into his bedroom, his arms taut and quivering with tension.
Or maybe it was her quivering.
Both miserable and in heaven, she laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted-”
“Save it.” He practically dropped her to the bathroom floor in his rush to get his hands off her. “You’re frozen solid.” He flicked on the hot water. “Get in the shower and warm the hell up.”
She stared at the steaming shower, everything blurring because of the tears she refused to shed. She’d brought this on herself. There was no one else to blame.
Somehow she’d broken all her rules. She’d fallen in love with Melissa. She’d fallen in love with Sean, a man who represented every part of every fairy tale she’d ever told herself. He was strong and independent with a sense of humor and a mind of his own. A man who might have even loved her back-as Carly.
How ironic was that? She’d finally found herself locked in Carly’s persona, and now that woman was gone, as well. Now she was a woman halfway between. A woman who would be happy to spend the rest of her life this way, with a small, intimate family who loved her. Her.
“Get in the shower, Princess.”
“Carly,” she whispered.
“Carlyne.”
“I want to be Carly.” She tried to unzip her sweater, but her fingers were shaking so badly it took her a moment to get a good grip.
“Dammit.” Apparently unwilling to wait, Sean shoved her hands away and tugged the zipper down, parting the sweater, exposing her pale skin to his gaze for the first time. Ever. One more tug, and the water-soaked weight fell off her arms. As he already knew, her silky white bra had a front clasp. It was also wet, which left the material so sheer she might have been wearing nothing.
Jaw clenched, Sean opened that, too, and with a deep, ragged breath, peeled it away from her skin.
Her nipples were two hard, aching peaks. He closed his eyes but didn’t say anything. She thought she heard a soft moan escape his lips, but she couldn’t be sure. “Sean-”
“Don’t.”
Her skirt came off next and, kneeling on the floor, he went after her boots, leaving her in thick tights and panties.
The tights had to be peeled away one leg at a time. The feel of his fingers on her, the way his dark head bent to his task, the way he held his breath, all combined to string her so tight she thought she might snap. Her heart certainly hadn’t gotten the message that he would never again touch her the way he had on the beach, because it was racing in anticipation. Her every nerve had done the same, so that a simple stroke of his hand down her leg caused her to tremble all the more.
Finally, he slid his hands up her thighs and hooked his thumbs in the sides of her panties.
She stared at him, not breathing.
He stared at her, his breathing rough and uneven.
As the air danced over her wet, chilled body, she really did get cold.
But his hot gaze warmed everywhere it landed, and it landed plenty. No matter what he wanted to feel, he still desired her. He couldn’t hide that.
He wasn’t immune! It gave her a surge of hope, because he couldn’t both hate her and want her, too, could he? No, she decided, he couldn’t. Maybe it would have to start from physical release, his forgiving her. She’d appeal to him on an emotional level after, when he was ready.
Slowly he skimmed the panties down her legs, and if she’d expected him to avert his gaze, he didn’t. He looked right at her, all over her, and along with her trembling came a need she’d never known before.
He couldn’t have missed how aroused she was, not from his vantage point with her breasts just above his head, nipples thrust out, hard as stones. Between her legs she felt her own creamy wetness, which had absolutely nothing to do with the rain.
Standing there, completely exposed to his hot, hungry, angry gaze, she felt yet another powerful shudder go through her.
Suddenly, he surged up, pulled off her black wig and dropped it to the floor. She didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t for him to slip his fingers into her real hair. He massaged her head for a moment. She let out a soft sigh. Then, with hard eyes and grim mouth, he stepped back and opened the shower door.
He was going to shove her into the shower and pretend none of this existed between them. He was going to shut the door on her and walk away. She couldn’t let him, so she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close.
Swearing again, he slipped his hands around her waist, lifted her and turned toward the open shower door.
And for that one second, when she was plastered against him, she closed her eyes and savored the feeling. Her thighs, her belly, her breasts were all smashed against his wet, cold clothes, but the sensation of being so open and vulnerable, of being completely naked to his fully clothed body, was startlingly arousing.
His eyes were tightly closed, as if he was trying not to feel her.
So she wriggled. A lot. Wrenching another curse from him.
“Be still, dammit.” But he couldn’t deposit her in the stall without getting into the shower himself, so they hovered there.
“Sean-”
“Quiet.”
“There’s only one way to make me quiet,” she whispered, and brazenly slid herself over the bulge straining the fly of his pants.
A strangled sound escaped him. “I am absolutely not having sex with you.”
Sex. That’s what it had been to him.
To her, it had been much, much more. And she might have had a chance at making him think so, too, except for her deceit.
Swallowing hard, she leaned forward, pressed her bare breasts to his chest and was gratified to see his jaw clench. “I hurt you, Sean. I’m sorry. Please, let me tell you about it.”