Before she could gain any ground at pulling the briefs off, he caught her wrist, rolled her to her back and pinned her hands on either side of her head. “Because I want to talk to you before I love you, and my cock gets greedy and overrides good sense when you’re naked and next to me.”

She grinned up at him and rolled her hips against his, his shaft a delicious press against her aching center. “On this issue, I’m afraid I’m going to have to agree with your cock. Now is not the time for conversation.”

His groan and the frustration glimpsed before his eyelids slipped shut was supremely gratifying. But the stern press of his lips when he opened them again and his tightened grip on her wrists dampened her hope for goading him into action. “Now is exactly the time for conversation.”

“Why?”

He held her gaze for a moment, studying her features intently. “Because we’re alone. Because you’re naked beneath me where I can hold you the way you need to be held when you tell me what happened today.”

“Nothing happened today.”

“Ah, malyshka.” He relinquished one of her wrists and cupped the side of her face. “You and I both know the days since you moved here have been a struggle for you. You’ve been tense. Withdrawn, but watchful.

“But today was different. I knew it the minute I saw you. Felt it at dinner and after as we walked together.”

The rising passion and need he’d built collided with the vulnerable moment. Left her exposed and trembling despite the heat radiating off him.

His voice softened. Shifted to a subtle croon as reverent as his touch. “I understand the fear in sharing. Meeting you has forced me to face my own in many ways and will no doubt bring more to light. But how can I help you face yours if you do not share them with me?”

Not a demand for information.

Not censure, or a lecture on what she should or shouldn’t do.

But a desire to help. A partner demonstrating awareness and a willingness to stand beside her.

And the truth of it was—he was right. If she wanted to choose happiness, the first step was owning her truth. No matter how foolish or childlike it sounded inside her own head.

She splayed her hands against his pecs. Centered herself in the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her palm and pulled in a deep, stabilizing breath. “Your family is big. Loud. Expressive and funny.”

He nodded, his focus solely on the words she said.

“Mine wasn’t like that at all. Dinners were...awkward. So quiet it was almost oppressive. And when there was conversation, it was stilted and bland.”

“And you are having a hard time adjusting?”

She couldn’t stop the sharp bark of laughter. “No. Quite the opposite.”

His frown was subtle, one geared toward trying to comprehend more than anger.

She swallowed. Or at least tried to. No easy feat considering how defenseless she felt in that moment. “I like it.”