The MacGregor Grooms by Nora Roberts

warmth that trembled straight to the center of her heart. Not a seduction or demand, but a joining as he carried her from the studio and to the bed they’d chosen together.
    Sweetly, patiently, with the afternoon sun beaming through the open windows, he touched her. And shattered any hope of defense.
    Pleasure was quiet, natural as breath, gentle as the breeze that fluttered over her skin as he undressed her.
    She reached for him, wanting more of this slow and sumptuous sensation, finding it as she drew him closer, as she lifted her mouth and opened it to his.
    His warrior’s body was familiar to her now—the bold muscles, the big hands, the wide, strong shoulders. But there was a change in the way he moved to her, moved over her that had her pulses beating thick and slow.
    And it was more he wanted as well, more of this silky surrender, those lazy sighs, those long, long shudders. As she gave it, he took care, sliding her slowly to the peak, watching her face in the light as she trembled up, then glided down again.
    He slipped into her, staggered by the depth of his own desire to give, his need to see those sea-mist eyes cloud and darken, to hear his name whispered.
    He watched her, watched her, until his vision blurred, then he covered her mouth with his once again as body and heart shattered.
    *   *   *
    It wasn’t the answer, she told herself, and stopped before she could follow instinct and curl up against him. If she allowed herself to feel this way, she’d be lost. If she didn’t pull back enough to think, to plan, to remember what she wanted, she would make a mistake that couldn’t be rectified.
    She rose quickly and began to dress.
    His eyes still hazed from what they’d brought each other, D.C. watched her. “Why are you doing that?”
    She trembled once, fumbled with buttons. “We need to think this through. I’m going home.”
    “Layna. Stay.”
    “No, this is just confusing the issue, and it’s all moving too quickly.”
    He rose himself, tugged on his jeans. “You matter to me.”
    Her head jerked up at that, her eyes swimming with emotions. “I know. I think … That’s just it,” she said with rising panic. “I can’t think. I’m going to take a few days. This could very well be just a matter of mixing emotions into what was supposed to be a simple affair.”
    “Of course it is.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. Otherwise he was going to grab her again, and that wouldn’t solve anything but his own frustrated need. “Isn’t that the problem?”
    “I don’t know what the problem is.” That, she realized, was what frightened her the most. When she looked at him she forgot things—like her plans, her well-ordered, sensible plans. “But we both have some thinking to do before this … situation becomes any more complicated. We’ll just stay away from each other for a few days, and cool off.”
    He leaned back against the wall, arched his brows. “And what if we don’t?”
    “We’ll deal with that when … whenever.”
    “I want you, Layna.”
    “I know.” And her pulse leaped hearing it, knowing it. “If that was all, we wouldn’t have a problem.”
    “That doesn’t have to be a problem. Wanting more doesn’t have to be a problem.”
    “It is for me. I have to go. I have to think.”
    She was nearly to the door when he said her name, just her name, and stopped her in her tracks. She didn’t turn around, didn’t dare. And with a quick shake of her head, ran down the stairs and away.
    He thought about going after her. He could catch her before she got outside. Talk her back into his apartment, drag her back, if necessary. Then take her to bed again. They didn’t have any complications in bed.
    And then what?
    He swore, pushed away from the wall and stalked back to his studio. He avoided the window. Hedidn’t want to watch her walk away. Instead he studied the two canvases.
Layna
and
Need.
And wondered how they had come to be the same thing to him.

Chapter