“Then something knocked the wind out of you?”
“Exactly.”
She’d lost her job, but she might as well have been ploughed down and kicked in the gut. She’d never felt insecure before that, even when her mother had blown the Petrelle money. She’d been angry, yes, and disappointed at such waste. But ultimately she’d known she had her own abilities to rely upon.
Then her livelihood had been ripped out from under her and her confidence had been shaken to her core. She’d felt physically winded for days. But she’d forced herself out from beneath the covers, had mailed résumés off and returned to the gym. She’d promised herself things would work out. She would get back on her feet and eventually kick a winning goal right through the centre of those posts.
Only those posts seemed so far away now.
“Worse things have happened in my life,” she continued, peering into the flames and remembering her brother’s and father’s deaths. “But I’d always held it together—”
Stinging emotion filled her throat and she had to stop and swallow. She felt his gaze on her.
“Want to tell me about it?”
Her cheeks hot, she shook her head. She’d said enough. If she said any more she might cry, and that wasn’t something she liked to do too often.
“It’s nothing that a million other people haven’t faced.”
“Maybe you’re trying too hard not to disappoint other people?” he said. “Or trying too hard not to disappoint yourself. Cut yourself a break. Give it time. I see a strength in you I don’t see in too many people.”
She coughed out a laugh. “You saw that strength when? While I was trapped and screaming for help?”
He slid down a little. With his forehead near hers, their noses all but touching, he mock-frowned at her. “Did you hear the part about cutting yourself a break?”
Her gaze lowered to his mouth, and her own lips tingled with want. His scent was so intoxicating … the temptation to taste him again so strong …
But he moved away and, resting against the bedhead, threaded his fingers behind his head. Man, he had the best set of biceps.
“You said yourself,” he told her, “most people face a crisis. More than one. But no one knows what their most vulnerable spot is until fate uncovers it. Recovering from a meltdown can take time, but then you shape up even stronger. Whatever it is you’re facing—” he winked across at her “—you’ll be okay.”
It sounded as if he knew what he was talking about, and, despite feeling low a lot of the time here, this experience had toughened her up. She’d found new ways to adapt. New qualities to admire—in others as well as herself.
Still, she couldn’t help wincing as a prickly knot formed low in her stomach.
You’ll be okay.
She sighed. “I wish I could believe that.”
She must have sounded pathetically in need of TLC, because next she knew his arm was around her shoulder and he’d urged her cheek to rest against the slope of his hot bare chest. His fingers trailed up and down her arm before he gave her an encouraging squeeze. “I’ll believe in you.”
She blew out a quiet breath and, happy to surrender, curled in. With him holding her, his warm breath stirring her hair, anything seemed possible.
Now she’d shared so much, would he open up too?
She hesitated then asked, “Can I ask what your crisis was?”
He exhaled slowly. “I lost someone close. Someone who had faith in me when he didn’t need to.”
With his voice rumbling against her ear, her heart squeezed for him. Was there anything more difficult than saying goodbye for ever to someone you loved?
“For a long time I felt stuck, wanting to go back and change things,” he said, and his hand unconsciously tightened on her arm. “I let that person down.”
“I can’t imagine you ever letting anyone down.” Her palm skimmed higher, to rest where his heartbeat boomed. “You should try to remember why that person had faith in you.”
“I never quite worked that one out. But I’ll never forget it.”
His tone was low and painfully earnest. As far as confessions went, that was a doozy. He seemed so capable; someone to rely on. So where had such an admission come from? Had he confessed that to anyone before? Instinct said not.
She pressed her ear to his heartbeat and, closing her eyes, willed her belief in him to soak through.
Then she smiled. “I might have a solution.”
“Tell me.” His words were patient, amused.
“Let someone have faith in you again.” The same way he said he’d believe in her.
But when he stiffened, a shrivelling feeling fell through her middle. He’d opened up, but clearly she’d overstepped the mark. She hadn’t meant to imply he was in any way unreliable, if that was how he’d taken it. So many people must count on him every day in his business life, for starters.
But then he breathed again, deeper than before, and when his arm moved higher his fingers brushed hair away from her face.
“What does having faith mean to you?” he asked, as the embers flickered lower and the room darkened more, cocooning them in their own little world.
“Loyalty,” she replied, relieved he didn’t sound defensive. “Commitment. Trust.”
“Trust …”
When his mouth brushed her crown her pulse quickened, and her nipples hardened beneath the stiff fabric of her shirt. His arm urged her closer, and the growth of his day-old beard rasped over her. As her heart galloped high in her chest his mouth touched her hair, and anticipation sucked through her veins like a thousand-degree backdraft.
“I’d like for you to trust me,” he said, and he turned her slightly in his arms. But she felt so overwhelmed, her pulse was racing so fast, she couldn’t meet his eyes.
They’d kissed on the beach, but that had been different; she’d been swept up in the high-risk animation of the moment. But now every cell in her body was acutely aware of what lay beyond this caress. With each word and enticing touch he’d let her know his intentions. He wanted her to trust him. Enough to take this next step.
A thumb strummed an inch below one shoulder-blade. When his chin made its way with an agonising lack of speed across her brow down her cheek to her jaw—when the delicious contrast of his lips whispered over hers—Nina felt so light-headed and doused with desire she wondered if she might faint. Then his mouth parted, feathering over hers, and her core caught light.
More than anything she’d ever wanted, she wanted him to kiss her now. Intensely.
Completely.
“I want to make love to you,” he said, and that thumb travelled down the dent of her back. He kneaded the dip at the base of her spine as his teeth nipped and tugged her lower lip. “I want to make love to you like I’ve never wanted to make love to anyone before.”
The gravelled timbre of those words pulled a final trigger. Mouthwatering hunger flooded her centre, and her body reflexively bowed towards his. But the nerves in her throat were convulsing so badly she couldn’t trust herself to speak. So she combed her fingers over the sandpaper of his jaw and let her eyes and her trembling want speak for her.
He turned his head slightly to kiss her palm, then, cupping her bottom, scooped her in