His chuckle was mostly a huff of air. “I don’t want to be hurt, either. Been there, done that, and it sucks. But I’d rather have whatever time with you than nothing, which might make me a masochist, but . . .”

She shifted to her back, meeting his gaze directly. “Me too.”

One corner of his mouth quirked up, making him devastatingly handsome in the morning light. Blond hair mussed, golden scruff on his strong jaw. And miles of muscles under the T-shirt he’d worn to bed. “Which thing?”

“Huh?” she asked stupidly.

The other corner of his mouth kicked up, and he slowly grinned. “Which thing are you agreeing with? You said, ‘Me too.’”

“Oh. Right.” She shook her head, making him grin wider, a smug grin that looked good on him. “Now I forgot.”

He laughed. “You’re good for my ego, Mercy Callahan.”

She stroked his jaw, loving the feel of stubble under her fingertips. It was just enough to feel good, not so thick and coarse that it hurt.

Not like his. And I am not going to think of him. Not here. Not in Rafe’s bed, which is safe and good. And right.

“You’re good for mine too, Raphael Sokolov.” She swallowed hard. “I want things with you.”

His grin disappeared, his eyes growing dark and aroused. “What kind of things?” he asked, his voice gruff and raspy.

“The things that scare me. Not because you scare me,” she added when he stiffened. “I don’t want to disappoint you.” She pressed a finger to his lips when he started to speak. “Let me finish.” He kissed her finger and settled back on the pillow, waiting. “I don’t want to disappoint me, either. I’ve had a few relationships. They haven’t been amazing. One or two weren’t terrible, but it was mostly . . . platonic, you know?”

He nodded once, but still said nothing, which pleased her.

“I’ve been with men, not many. Two. Well, two and a half.”

He barked out a laugh. “Do I want to know about the half?”

She laughed along with him, realizing that she’d never laughed in bed with any of the men she’d dated before. “He wasn’t half. What we did was . . . half.” She pressed her palms to her flushed cheeks. “Dammit. Now I’m blushing.”

“And you’re so pretty that way,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. Or six.

She shivered and gave him a fast, awkward smile. “My point was . . . God, what was my point? Oh yeah.” She shoved him lightly when he snickered. “Stop it. My point was that I’m not inexperienced, but it’s never been . . . glorious.”

His eyes widened briefly before returning to that sleepy, sexy look. “Glorious. I like that word. It’s a very good description of how it’s supposed to be.”

“I’m glad you approve,” she said primly, then laughed again when he snorted. “What I’m trying to say is that you’re special. And if we—” She shook her head again. “When we do intimate things, I want them to be glorious. And I’m afraid they won’t be and we’ll both be disappointed.”