But everything was different now, and she needed to remember that. “Can we just do this, please? It’s been a very long day and being pregnant makes me tired.”
“Of course you’re tired. Here, you get comfortable on the couch and we’ll approach this in a different way.” Asher leaped up and moved across the room, heading for the TV. He picked up the remote and started to flick through to the movie rentals. “Do you know of any good movies that feature a lot of kissing? Maybe for tonight we could just watch it on the screen instead, and slowly move into the real thing.”
Oh goodness, that sounded so much better. “Kissing movies?”
“Yeah. Nothing porny, because that won’t show me how to kiss properly. Just normal sorts of movies where normal people kiss the women they love.”
“And you expect me to know of one?” She teased, but oh gosh, she had a dozen. When Harry Met Sally, Dirty Dancing, Romeo and Juliet, Love Actually, Pretty Woman . . .
“You’re the romantic.”
She was. “How about Ghost? Have you seen that one?”
He typed in the letters and then pulled it up on the rental screen. “With Patrick Swayze?”
“That’s the one.”
“Haven’t seen it.” He clicked the button and returned to the couch. “Rented it, though.”
To give the man credit, he didn’t mock her for her choice in movies. He must have remembered that she was a hopeless romantic, though she did her best to keep it a secret.
“You want a snack or a drink? I think the fridge has some cookies and bottled water, or we can order something.”
“Cookies and bottled water is fine,” she said, giving him a grateful smile. Tonight had turned out to be a lot less painful than she’d envisioned. She’d been imagining letting him maul her for hours on end and in actuality, they’d talked and now were going to watch a movie. No kissing.
She was oddly relieved and yet strangely disappointed at the same time.
He returned with an enormous oversized cookie for her and a bottle of water, and then sat down in the center of the sofa. Instead of giving her space, he put his arms around her and hauled her against him, as if it were a date and they were snuggling.
And she was going to protest, but his body was warm and she was sleepy and the movie was starting. So she ate her cookie, drank some water, and let the story carry her away.
Greer was almost nodding off into sleep—more tired than she’d expected—when a soft brush of something against the back of her hand woke her up. She opened her eyes sleepily and realized that Asher had her hand in his, and he was gently kissing the back of her hand.
“Wha . . . what are you doing?”
“Just practicing. Your sheets said I should practice on my hand.” His lips brushed against the back of her hand again and goose bumps prickled over her body. Her nipples were hard and aching, and terrible, distracting urges were moving through her.
“You’re supposed to practice on your own hand,” she whispered, watching breathlessly as he moved his mouth in a kiss against her hand again. Goodness, she should not be that turned on by watching a man pretend-kiss her hand.
He glanced down at her, a roguish look on his face. “I like yours better. You don’t mind, do you?”
Did she mind? God, no. She watched him press another sultry kiss to the back of her hand and her entire body prickled with awareness again. It had to be the pregnancy hormones that were making her that aroused. Had to be.
“Watch the movie,” he told her, and then brushed his lips against her hand again. “I’m getting some great pointers.”
He expected her to concentrate on the movie when he was making out with her hand? She turned back to the screen and settled in against him again, trying to ignore the fact that her nipples—and her sex—responded each time he pressed a kiss against her skin. And when he stopped?
That bothered her almost as much.
***
A weird sort of possessive pleasure took over Asher as Greer drifted off to sleep against him again. He gently lay her hand down and let the droning of the movie lull her deeper into sleep, though he hadn’t been paying a bit of attention to it. He’d just wanted to distract her, to get her to relax.
It had worked, too. She’d entered his hotel room looking as if she were about to go into a war zone. Now? She was curled up peacefully against him, sleeping, her hand still twined with his. Having her there against him gave him a fierce sort of satisfaction. Like she’d finally found the spot where she belonged. He wanted to reach out and touch the fine lines of her sleeping face, but her words about exhaustion made him hold back.
He’d be content just to have her rest against him. He didn’t need more than that.
Well, his cock did. It ached and strained in his pants, insistent that he should claim Greer as his own. Asher ignored it, though. He knew that if he had a shot in hell of winning Greer back over, he’d have to go slowly and give her control.
He could be patient. It might take every ounce of his self-control, but he’d do it.
***
The next night, Greer seemed less edgy when she arrived at his hotel room. Her hair was pulled back into a fat knot at the base of her neck, and it made her glasses seem huge on her pointed face. She wore a plain red blouse with short sleeves and a high neck, and a pair of skinny jeans and her favorite flats. He loved that she didn’t care how short it made her look—it was clear that she dressed for her own pleasure and not for his. Something about that confidence just made him that much crazier for her.