Still, this was different. This was Skye.

“So . . . pizza or Chinese?”

“Is that really what you want, Edge? Or is it me you want?”

He was already aroused. He went even harder. “You’re what I want. I’ve wanted you for months, wanted you for what seems like forever. I just . . . I don’t want to rush you.”

Skye simply stepped into his arms. “I don’t want Chinese.”

Edge bit back a groan and kissed her. What started soft and gentle deepened and went hotter, wetter, mouths mating, bodies straining to get closer. Every second felt like an eternity—or an instant—he couldn’t be sure. He wanted more, wanted everything. Wanted all of her, and he wanted it now.

Instead, he just kept kissing her. One of his hands fisted in her thick dark curls, and he tipped her head back to trail kisses along her slender throat. He could feel her heart beating, her pulse thrumming faster than his own.

He wanted to take her against the wall, drag her down on the floor. It didn’t matter. He just wanted her.

His brain finally began to settle, to accept what was going to happen. Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her down the hall to his bedroom. They had all night, he reminded himself, as he set her on her feet next to his king-size bed and started kissing her again.

Soft pink lips, the scent of flowers on her skin, the sexy taste of her. God, he could kiss her forever.

He felt her palms on his chest as she eased a little away from him. “Before this happens, we need to talk.”

He only shook his head. “I think we’ve talked enough. You’re here. I’m here. We both want the same thing.” He leaned over to kiss her again, but Skye moved away.

“It’s about my leg. I need you to be prepared. I don’t want this to go wrong.” Her eyes filled, and he wanted to kill her ex-fiancé.

“It’s not going to go wrong. I know what happened in Afghanistan. Your brother told me.”

Her head came up. “Conn talked about me behind my back?”

“I forced the issue. I told him it was important. I needed to know what was holding you back. I know you were wounded. I know what the explosion did to your leg. I don’t care.”

She blinked away the wetness. “You might when you see what’s left of me.”

He caught her shoulders. “I’ve seen men blown in half right in front of me. I’ve seen men’s chests ripped open by shrapnel. Your leg isn’t the part of you I’m interested in.” His hands slid down to cup the ripe fullness of her breasts. A thumb brushed over her nipple, which hardened into a tight bud, and a little sound escaped her throat. “Do you trust me?”