Stroking her fingers through his thick, dark hair, her lips fluttered open, granting him everything she had to give: her mind, her heart, her soul.
Riley's kiss was hungry and demanding, until slowly it began to happen. Her sensations were drowning in warm feelings – feelings she'd experienced so rarely in her life and only with this man. She ached in places she'd never thought to ache. Her breasts throbbed, and she recalled with vivid detail the night on the Seattle waterfront when Riley had taken her nipples in his mouth; and she wanted that again. Anything to ease the heavy swollen feeling that controlled her. The sensation didn't stop there, but sank lower – much lower – to the juncture of her thighs. She felt hot and quivery, hot and excited; needy in ways she barely understood. Suddenly Hannah knew what she wanted. What she needed.
Her husband.
An electric shudder passed through her. Riley must have felt it because he abruptly broke off the kiss.
Hannah sighed. Riley's lungs emptied of air as he slowly released his hold on her waist. His hands reached for hers, which were gripping his neck, and he gently pulled them free.
"I'd better finish unloading the trunk," he said, his voice so low it was a gentle whisper. Following that, he walked away.
Hannah was stunned. He'd wanted her as much as she'd wanted him, and yet he'd pushed her aside and given some flimsy excuse to leave her. She didn't know what was happening, didn't understand the significance of it. What she did feel was alone and lacking. And more needy than she'd ever felt in her life.
Riley stood by the car, letting the cold December wind slam against him. He drew in several breaths, sucking the air deep into his lungs. His head was swimming with the reality of how close he'd come to breaking his self-proclaimed code of honor and making love to Hannah. He opened the car trunk, and his hands shook. Not only his hands, but every part of him – his legs, his belly, his head. It was the kind of shallow-breathing, head-pounding shaking that comes when one realizes what a close brush one has had.
They couldn't have gotten any closer. Another minute, and Riley would have hauled her into the bedroom and damned the consequences. If he were to make love to her now, needing her so desperately, he'd frighten her half to death. Hell, he needed her so damn much it frightened him. He was concerned, too, about hurting the baby.
He'd made a promise to himself, one he fully intended to keep. He'd woo Hannah, love her the way a husband loves a wife, but only after she'd delivered the baby. Riley had lain awake most of the night before, sorting through his feelings for Hannah and, more important, what he'd learned about Jerry. He'd never be the husband her fiancé would have been. The way Riley figured it, Jerry, having been the noble man he was, wouldn't have pressured her to make love while she was pregnant, so Riley wouldn't, either.
"Admit it," Riley said aloud. He clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides, resisting slamming them against the trunk lid. It was more than the pregnancy issue. "You're afraid."
The psychologists probably had a fancy name for it. The irrational, inane fear of making love to one's wife. It would take time for him to analyze what was going on inside his head. He didn't doubt his love. Riley was crazy about her, and committed to her, their child and their marriage.