She sarcastically laughs. “Please, I remember a certain cha-cha you used to do after every touchdown you scored.”

I chuckle; it was idiotic. “That’s different. You’re required to do something stupid when celebrating a touchdown. Plus, I’m not that guy anymore. I live in reality now.”

The wheels in her head are turning, her eyes searching mine before she settles with a contented look. “Well, if this is your reality, it’s absolutely stunning.” She stands on her toes, and her hand runs to the back of my neck; she pulls me down and presses a kiss on my jaw before dropping back down.

Dying to taste her again, I hold her in place when she tries to take a step back.

“Kiss me like you mean it, Harper.”

“What?” she asks, a little startled.

Hand on her back, I pull her flush against me and lift her chin. “Kiss me like you used to, like you couldn’t get enough of me, like it was the last time you’d ever have your lips on mine.”

“I . . . I . . .” Her head drops against my chest. “I can’t.”

I drop my hand; worry tickles up my back. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

Her teeth roll over her lip, biting the corner as she takes a step back. “If I kiss you, I know I won’t be able to stop myself.”

My anxiety eases as a lopsided smile replaces my frown. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” I gather her into my arms and place her on the counter, stepping between her legs. Smoothly, I run my hands along her exposed thighs, up to her hips, and hold her firmly in place.

“Rogan,” she whispers, her long lashes fluttering. “Please . . .”

“Please what?” I ask, pulling her closer.

She glances at me, a heated look, a look of yearning and wanting, and in seconds the air between us electrifies.

I move one of my hands up her arm to her shoulder and play with the silky fabric of her romper, the neckline so deep that it gives me a view straight down her cleavage. Slowly, I move the fabric toward the edge of her shoulder, watching as her lips part in surprise and her breathing quickens.

“Please what, Harp? Please stop? Please keep going? Please kiss me? Please remind me of what it’s like to be together again?” I push the fabric off her shoulder, exposing her delicate skin. Eyes on her, I lower my mouth, waiting for her to stop me, but when she doesn’t, I press my lips softly against her shoulder.

I spread featherlike kisses over her skin, moving to her collarbone and cautiously working my way up her neck. When she shifts her head to the side, giving me better access, a shot of excitement pulses through me, straight to my cock.

Fuck, go slow, man.

Despite how much I want this, how much I’ve dreamed of this moment, I need to go slow.

I kiss along her neck while my free hand glides up and down her arm, stroking small circles. A tidal wave of goose bumps spreads across her skin as my fingers travel up her arm and I slowly drag my tongue along the column of her neck.

One of her hands moves to the back of my neck, holding me in place while her legs spread wider, letting me in farther.

I can feel her starting to trust me. With every intentional kiss, she loosens up, granting me more access to her body and—I hope—her heart.

Working my mouth farther up her neck, I reach her jaw, taking a moment to savor her sweet skin and the soft moans escaping her plump lips. Fingers threaded through my hair, she quietly guides me higher, my lips trailing until I reach her lips. I halt, pressing my forehead against hers. I glance down; her left breast is almost entirely exposed, no bra in sight. I’m tempted to move the fabric the rest of the way, to take her breast in my mouth while I lay her back on the counter and pull her entire romper off her body.

But I hold off.

Reaching up, I place my other hand at the base of her neck and gently stroke her racing pulse with my thumb.

“Harp, I need to know you want this, that I’m not the only one feeling this pull between us.”

She takes a shaky breath. “I feel it too.”

“But . . .” I sense it in her voice, the but that she can’t quite admit.

“I’m scared.” Ever so gently, her nose rubs against mine. “I’m so fucking scared, Rogan.”

“Of me?”

“Of how fast I’m going to fall for you if I let this happen. I’m already dangling over the edge.” Her head nuzzles mine right before she presses a kiss against my cheek, then my nose and my eyelid. “If I give myself over to you, it will change everything.”

“It will.” I kiss her forehead. “But in the best way possible.”

She bites her lips and looks away, so I kiss her face, bringing her attention back to me.

“Talk to me, Harp. Don’t go somewhere else, stay here . . . with me.”

“I just . . .” She lets out a long breath. “I’m damaged, Rogan, and not just from you. I feel broken inside, like no matter what I do, I can’t seem to glue myself back together. I’m not the same girl you fell in love with. I’m lost, barely starting to find myself again. If I do this with you, I know my heart will be yours. I can’t have you break what’s barely mended.”

Cupping both of her cheeks, I press a long, hopeful kiss to her forehead. “Anything I say right now is going to fall on deaf ears. What you need to do is trust my actions. I know that’s scary, but all I can do is show you I’m a better man now.” I kiss her nose. “I love you, Harper, always have, always will; nothing will ever change that.”

Her eyes flutter open as her pupils widen, her gaze flashing back and forth.

Making sure she heard me, I say, “I love you, and if I have to, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to convince you of that.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

ROGAN

Torturous millimeters away, I hold my lips before hers, waiting as she contemplates her next move. This is on her. I can’t move forward any farther, even though with each moment that goes by, a piece of my heart fractures.

I run my hand down her neck, across her collarbones. Careening down her arm, my hand spreads wide, allowing my thumb to caress the side of her breast, the softness springing an entirely new ache in my cock, which is already pressed tightly against the zipper of my jeans.

“I . . .” She stops, her breath frozen in her lungs when my other hand caresses up her thigh, under the shorts of her romper, to the juncture of her hip. “Oh God,” she breathes heavily, her head tilting back. I take the opportunity to spread kisses along her exposed neck, my tongue flicking behind her ear.

Her hands fall to my chest, and she grips me tightly, one of her legs curling around my waist.

Fuck.

Fucking hell.

My fingers travel back up her arm, only to make the journey south again, this time rubbing against her breast even more, brushing my thumb close to her nipple. Still kissing her, I play with her body, her neck, her breast, her thigh, where my other thumb is lightly stroking her hip bone, moving inward.

“God, Rogan,” she moans, snapping her head up, surprising me.

I hold my breath, my touch frozen now as I wait for her next move.

The air stills; heat emanates from the oven as both our chests rise and fall, time passing in slow motion.

Just fucking kiss me, I plead with my eyes.

I don’t think I can take not having her lips on mine tonight.

I want her in my arms, in my bed, my mouth on hers, my cock buried so far inside her that there’s no doubt she’s mine forever.

“Love me,” I plead. “Fuck, Harper, just fucking love me.”

I lift my eyes, my heart so goddamn heavy in my chest that I can barely take my next breath. Throat constricted, stomach twisting and turning, I watch her indecision roll around in her head.

And right when I think she’s about to pull away, my pleading and begging body feels the press of her hands, sliding up my neck to my face. She moves her mouth to mine, closing the last few inches between us, and with a light press of her lips to mine, she kisses me, disintegrating every last muscle in my body, turning me into a puddle of relief.

Tightening my grip on her arm and hip, I hold on as I’m flooded with memories of her taste, of her touch, of the way her lips fit so perfectly against mine.

Groaning, I grip the back of her neck and part my lips. Her tongue immediately slips against mine, and in that moment, I lose myself.

Fuck, she’s just as I remembered. Sweet, but urgent. Sexy, yet soft.

As we twine our tongues together, she drags her hand down my body, along my pecs to the contours of my abs, and slips her hand under my sweater. Her fingers dip past my waistband for a second before they travel upward, her palm lying flat against my skin.

When she reaches my pec, her fingers flick across my nipple, sending a jolting ache straight through my cock.

“Fuck,” I mumble, wanting to return the favor. Wanting her bare, I move both my hands down over her shoulders, dragging the rest of the fabric with me until her pert breasts are exposed.