understand.
Wesley brought his mouth to hers again and shifted so that his body was on top of hers, his full weight down on her, his hips pressing into hers. He pushed her arms over her head and she smiled—this she was used to. But instead of holding her down by her wrists, Wesley twined his fingers into hers. Something caught in her chest at the simple gesture of tenderness.
Pausing from the kiss, Wesley pulled back and looked down at her and searched her face as though he couldn’t believe she was real.
“Please tell me this means as much to you as it does to me,” he begged.
Nora swallowed a lump in her throat. “I’m terrified, Wes. I think it may even mean more to me.”
Shaking his head, he smiled. “Not possible.”
Wesley released her hands and pulled her into his arms. His body radiated warmth and she couldn’t seem to get enough of his skin. She wrapped a leg over his back and Wesley pressed his forehead to the center of her chest. Nora felt a flutter of fear when she remembered this was Wesley and he would never have sex with anyone he wasn’t in love with. The only person she’d ever had sex with who loved her was Søren. Søren…
“Wes, stop for a second.”
Wesley pulled away from her and she saw the fear in his eyes.
“I wasn’t hurting you, was I?”
She rolled up and pulled her legs to her chest.
“No, you weren’t hurting me at all. I just…” She panted a little. “I just need a second. I told you, I’ve never had vanilla sex before.”
Wesley laughed a little.
“Are you a virgin, too?”
She met his eyes and smiled.
“Guess so.”
Wesley reached out and ran his hand through her hair.
“Nora, I don’t think I can do what you do. I’ve never even had normal sex much less…you know.”
Nora took short breaths. “I know. I’ll try, too.”
She pulled Wesley to her again. She wasn’t sure how to do this, how to just let go and let him make love to her. They kissed and he pushed her onto her back. A strange panic set it. This wasn’t who she was. Nora Sutherlin didn’t have vanilla sex. She didn’t do missionary position. The last time she had sex on her back and face-to-face was with Søren, and she’d been in four-point restraints. She didn’t know the rules to this game. But she knew if this happened, if they made love right now, he would believe she loved him as much as he loved her. He wasn’t just giving her his body. He was giving her his heart.
“Talk to me, Wesley,” she begged. He grew more courageous with every kiss. His hands roamed over her arms, her breasts, and even slid between her legs and caressed her through the fabric of her silk pajamas. “Tell me what you want to do.”
Wesley placed a hand on the side of her face and caressed her cheekbone with his thumb.
“I want to be inside you.” He breathed the words.
She reached between them and unbuttoned his jeans.
“Nora—” She heard a note of panic in his voice.
“We can get under the covers. Would that help?” She hoped he would say yes. Maybe it would help her, too.
“I’m the guy. I’m the one who should be saying that,” Wesley said with a rueful smile.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m older and a slut. Let me handle it, okay?” Could she handle it? She wanted to stop, wanted to talk to him before they went any further. She hadn’t been nervous like this in years. The night she gave her virginity to Søren felt like destiny. This felt like fear.
Wesley laughed. “Okay. Yeah, I would feel much more comfortable under the covers.”
Nora scooted off one side of the bed as Wesley slid off the other. As they pulled the sheets back, the pages of her novel fell off the bed and to the floor. Wesley picked them up and glanced at them.
Nora crawled across the bed toward him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. But Wesley didn’t respond. He just kept reading.
“It’s just fiction.” Nora kissed his shoulder.
“William and Caroline?” Wesley finally tore his eyes from the page. “That’s your father’s name and my mother’s name. Is this about us?”
Nora shook her head. “No, not really.”
“Not really?” Wesley took a step away from her and grabbed his shirt off the floor. Feeling both defeated and relieved, Nora pulled her camisole back on and sat cross-legged on the bed.
“No, it isn’t our story. He’s not quite me. She’s not quite you. It’s just inspired by us, by things I’ve thought about because of our relationship. They’re lovers. We’re just friends. Or were. Jesus, Wes. Did you plan this?” Nora couldn’t quite finish the question; the enormity of what they’d almost done together finally hitting her as she surveyed her disheveled bed.
“You quit your other job. I thought now maybe it might mean as much to you—”
“God, Wesley, it does mean as much to me.”
“Or is this just about your book?” he asked, holding the pages in his hand. He glanced down and scanned them. “The Gift of the Magi. That’s my favorite short story.”
“I know. It’s what they’re talking about the evening before this scene happens, about what people have to give up when they’re together.”
“So what is his watch? My virginity? I was ready to give that to you.”
“Your innocence. So much more valuable and so much more traumatic to lose.”
“And her hair, what’s that? You’ve already given up your job with King.”
“But I haven’t stopped being who I am.”
“It isn’t who you are, Nora. It’s just what you do.”
“Even if I’m not doing it for money, it’s still who I am. And I can’t sell it, not even to buy you a watch chain. It’s what writes my books and makes me me. It’s the only thing I have of value. And even if you wanted to give me your innocence, wanted to come into my world with combs for my hair, I can’t let you do that. So where does that leave us? You tell me.”
“With no Christmas presents, I guess.”
“I guess not,” Nora said, suddenly exhausted.
Wesley weighed the pages in his hands, flipped through them and pressed them to his chest.
“Why did you write this? Write a book about us?”
“Because I guess I’ve always known you and I can’t be together. God, I thought I was going to faint a few minutes ago trying to have vanilla sex with you. I hate that we have this thing between us. It kills me a little bit every day. The book— I don’t know. I guess I thought at least we could be together on paper for a little while. It’s not much, but it’s something,” she said, trying and failing to smile.
“Let me read it. All of it.”
“You don’t want to read it, sweetheart.”
“You said it was us.”
Nora remained unmoved.
“Please,” Wesley said, and Nora heard the slight but desperate catch in his voice. Nodding, she slid off the bed and retreated to her office. She grabbed the binder that held her most recent copy of her novel and returned to her bedroom.
“It’s not done yet. I still have about eight or so chapters to write.”
“How does it