“But,” he rasped, and then the hand at my back slid to my hip, gripping it. “But I do know, Jillian, that I want you.”

Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Brock wanted me.

He’d actually said those words. It wasn’t my imagination or wishful thinking. Nor was it something I made up in my head after reading between the lines. He’d just said it, and I could feel that he wanted me, and that alone did funny things to my body.

The hand at my hip tightened and the one under my breast stilled. His forehead was against mine, and when he made this raw, masculine sound of need, a shiver worked its way through my body. He pressed in, forcing my back flush against the wall.

He wanted me, but was it six years too late?

Based on the way my body had responded to his with him barely touching me, I was going to say no, it wasn’t too late.

But was it wise to even indulge the idea? That was the question.

He shuddered and then I felt his lips press against the corner of mine, the side that didn’t move right due to the nerve damage, and I gasped at the contact, my body flashing cold and then hot.

I blindly turned my head toward his and his lips brushed over mine, a soft sweep as gentle as a breeze. There was no pressure behind it, and the kiss we’d shared in the middle of the night had been a whole lot deeper than this, but this soft touch of his mouth undid me in a way no other kiss had ever done before.

Brock pulled away just an inch and our gazes connected and held. He then took my hand and pulled me away from the wall. He led me to the couch, and when he sat, he pulled me down so I was in his lap and my legs draped over his. Feet dangling, my heels slipped off and fell to the floor.

Startled by the sound, Rhage dove off the arm of the couch and scurried down the hall toward one of the bedrooms. Or maybe he was heading for the hallway bathroom. Rhage had lately taken to sleeping in the sink in there for some reason.

But I quickly stopped thinking about the weird cat.

My heart was pounding erratically as Brock kept one arm around my waist, securing me in place as he lifted his other hand, catching my hair and tucking it back behind my ear. He tipped my chin up, and his gaze searched mine and every inch of my face.

“I don’t know what is happening,” I blurted out.

“Me neither.” He cupped my jaw, moving his thumb just below the scar.