Chapter 13: Ask Me

Imogen's POV

The window had turned grey, and neither of us had moved.

I was still sitting on the arm of his chair, with his shoulder an inch from mine.

"The vote is at nine," I said.

"It is."

"Then we have a few hours."

Brogan turned his head.

He did not touch me, and I watched what that cost him.

"Imogen," he said. "Don't do this because you're frightened."

"I'm frightened of the boardroom," I said. "I'm not frightened of you."

I stood and held out my hand.

He looked at it for a long moment.

Then he took it slowly, giving me time to change my mind.

His palm was warm and dry and a little rough.

"Ask me," he said, very low.

"Touch me, Brogan."

His eyes closed for half a second.

"Where?"

"Everywhere. Start with my face."

He raised his good hand and laid it along my jaw, over the last yellow of the bruise.

His thumb crossed my cheekbone so gently that my eyes stung.

Four years in that house, and no one had ever touched me carefully.

"Again," I whispered.

He kissed me.

It was a careful kiss, a question asked with his whole mouth.

I answered it by taking the front of his shirt in both fists.

Then it was not careful at all.

He made a sound low in his chest, and his hand slid into my hair and tilted my head back.

His tongue was in my mouth, and I kissed him until I couldn't breathe.

"Bedroom," I said against his lips.

"Yours is down the hall."

"Yours."

He lifted me with the arm that worked.

I laughed, and then I stopped laughing.

He was carrying me through the dark house with his mouth against my temple.

I could feel how hard he was against my hip.

He set me down beside the bed and stood with his hand open at his side.

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