When she had left, Lara said, “No, I meant . . . That’s what you said last night. ‘Whatever feels good to you.’ ”
Iestyn sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim. “So?”
“So.” Her throat felt dry. “I just wondered how far you’re F o r g o t t e n s e a 181
prepared to go to make me feel better. Or do I already know the answer?”
He set down his mug with a clunk. “You think last night was .
. . what, a pity fuck? You think I got it up because you were there and I felt sorry for you?”
She shredded the straw’s paper wrapper, unable to meet his eyes. “It occurred to me I didn’t give you much choice.”
“Christ. I was trying to be nice.”
She twisted the shreds of paper into little pel ets, dropping them into the butter dish. “Exactly.”
“No. Not exactly. Not at al .” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Look, last night you needed somebody. Last night, I wanted you. One doesn’t have anything to do with the other.”
Lara sat stiffly as the waitress returned with their food, pancakes, eggs, and bacon for him, English muffin and orange juice for her.
Her heart beat a little faster.
Was it possible he was sincere?
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said when the woman had gone.
“You can’t insult me,” Iestyn said. “Hel , I’ve slept with women for less reason before. But give yourself a little credit.”
“Credit for what? Throwing myself at you?”
“For putting yourself out there. For doing the right thing. For being smart and determined and loyal and brave.
And hot,” he added. “You are incredibly hot.
Her laughter gurgled out before she could stop it.
He grinned. Their eyes locked. A warm jolt of energy shot clear down to her toes and settled around her heart.
“Even when sex isn’t on the menu, you’re damn near perfect,” he said softly.
18 2
V i r g i n i a K a n t r a
She reached blindly for her English muffin, yearning and confused because he was stil giving her what she wanted, tel ing her what she wanted to hear, and even though he was smiling, teasing with her, his eyes were deep and earnest, like he almost believed what he was saying, and for a moment—
He sat across from her, eating pancakes as calmly as if he hadn’t just electrified her emotions and shorted her brain.
She was dimly aware of stools scraping and people moving behind her. The bel over the door jangled.
She watched his hands on his knife and fork, a sailor’s hands, lean and brown and strong, and remembered him touching her breasts with exquisite gentleness, gripping her hips to help her find her rhythm as they moved together.
Her head swam. Her heart pounded in her chest as if she’d run a mile. She was stunned by her reaction, unnerved by her vulnerability.
If she was not careful, he could break her heart.
“You have butter.”
Disconcerted, she stared at the ruins of the butter plate, decorated with paper confetti. “Sorry. Did you want some?”
His smile was warm and slow. “You have butter . . .” He angled his head, studying her face. “Here.”
He reached a hand across the table. His thumb traced the corner of her mouth, lingering on her bottom lip. The pad of his thumb was rough and tasted pleasingly of salt.
She sucked it into her mouth.
He inhaled sharply. His gaze darkened and dropped to the front of her T-shirt, where her nipples peaked against the soft cotton. “And there.”
She glanced down, and yes, okay, there was a tiny crumb glistening with butter on the front of her shirt.
She looked up to meet his eyes, black as midnight, F o r g o t t e n s e a 183
bril iant as suns. The heat in them sucked al the oxygen from the room and left her light-headed.
“Want me to take care of that for you?” he offered, his voice husky.
She was dry-mouthed, dizzy with excitement. “No.”
