Rush

want.”
    He shook against her. His hands rubbed up and down her back in agitation. He pulled
     her head away and palmed her face, staring intently into her eyes.
    “I’m so sorry, baby. I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself for what I did. I hated
     it.
Hated
it, Mia.”
    “Then
why
did you
do
it?”
    His gaze dropped and he looked away, his hands sliding from her face. He closed his
     eyes, disgust simmering in his features. “Because I’m a goddamn coward.”
    His voice was so low she almost didn’t hear what he said, and even so she wasn’t sure
     he said what she thought he said. What did it mean?
    Then he reached for her hand, squeezing tightly. He brought it up to his mouth and
     pressed a kiss to the inside of her palm.
    “Know this, Mia. It will never happen again. I’m asking you to forgive the unforgivable.
     Yes, you signed an agreement, but it wasn’t what you wanted. Not last night. Not any
     night. And I think I knew that even before. I knew it and I still gave that bastard
     permission to touch you, and I hate myself for that. It’s my responsibility to know
     your wants and desires and place them above my own. I didn’t do that last night.”
    It didn’t make sense to her why he’d done it at all. It had come out of the blue.
     Even though they’d discussed the
possibility
, she hadn’t ever gotten the idea that he was going to actually do it.
    She had to wonder what was going on in his mind when he’d invited those men back to
     the suite. He’d been moody and brooding since before they’d left New York City. Did
     that have anythingto do with his decision? Was he trying to make some point she didn’t understand? Or
     did it have nothing to do with her at all?
    “I’m sorry, baby.” His voice dropped even lower, so much regret seeping into his words.
     “Please forgive me. Please say you’ll stay and not walk out. It’s what you should
     do, absolutely. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve your sweetness or your understanding.
     But I want it. God help me but I’m not sure I can live without it.”
    It was the closest he’d ever come to admitting she meant more to him than sex.
    She leaned forward, pushing up to her knees, her hands going to his face.
    “You don’t have to live without it—or me,” she whispered. “I’m here, Gabe. I’m not
     going anywhere. But it has to be just us. You and me. No other men.” She could barely
     contain the shudder that threatened to roll up her spine.
    His eyes ignited with relief. Then he crushed her to him, holding on, hugging her
     tightly. He kissed her temple, her head, every part of her hair, almost as if he could
     do nothing else but touch her in some way. “Just us,” he whispered against her ear.
     “I swear it.”
    Then he pulled away just enough that he could rest his forehead against hers.
    “Let’s go home, Mia. I want to put this behind us. I want you to be able to forget
     it and wipe it from your memory. I know I hurt you terribly. I swear to you I’m going
     to make it up to you.”
    She savored the fervent promise, held tightly to it. He spoke as if they had a future,
     as if he wanted more than just contractual sex. Was she a fool for believing that?
    She looped her arms around his neck. “Make love to me, Gabe. Make our last night in
     Paris special.”
    “Ah baby,” he said, a catch in his voice. “I’m going to love every inch of you tonight.
     And then I’ll hold you all the way home while you rest on the plane.”
    • • •
    Mia woke in the middle of the night and blinked to adjust to the low light. There
     was a narrow beam shining from the bathroom, and it illuminated Gabe’s sleeping features.
    She was tucked securely into his side, his leg thrown over both of hers, effectively
     trapping her against him. His arm was slung securely over her body. Even in sleep
     he was intensely possessive.
    Only he had been willing to allow other men to touch her, so how possessive could
     he really be?
    But there was no faking the very real regret and agony in his face when he’d apologized
     profusely to her. She still wasn’t sure of the reasons why, but she knew it had done
     something to him. Something profound. Something maybe even he didn’t understand.
    She tried to disentangle herself from his hold and he came awake, his eyes bleary
     with sleep.
    “Bathroom,” she whispered.
    “Hurry back,” he murmured, loosening his hold so she could get up.
    She went into the bathroom and