Chapter 7
CARMINA
My brain”s caught in a tug-of-war about this kiss. Can”t decide if I should melt into Quentin”s familiar warmth or shove him away, remembering we”re supposed to be at odds.
But my body? Oh, it”s got a one-track mind.
It”s craving his hands pulling me in, his tongue taking a tour of my mouth, and that electric heat zapping between us until we”re both lost in it.
So, I cave, letting his touch sweep me off my feet as our kiss deepens, desperate and fiery.
Every caress is a flashback to the Hare Holeton retreat—our first kiss battleground. I can still taste the s”mores and wine on his lips, feel the solidness of him. I had to crane my neck, stand on my tiptoes, just to meet him halfway into a universe where he was the center of everything.
That pull? It”s as strong now as it was then. Sure, everyone gets sucked into Quentin”s orbit, but I swore I wouldn”t drown in it.
Yet here we are, making out like teenagers in my hallway, the rain creating a soundtrack on my roof, and I”m finding it impossible to push him away.
His hand travels up my back, getting tangled in my hair, yanking us even closer, if that”s possible. My hands? They”re on an adventure over his shoulders and chest, finally resting behind his neck as his fingers dance along the edge of my robe.
That tentative brush against the terrycloth sends a shiver through me, a silent shout for more.
Until his thumb grazes my areola.
The touch is feather-light but enough to make me gasp and break away.
He looks at me, eyes wide. ”Fuck.” He drops his hand. ”Too much?”
I let out a long breath, my eyes closing for a brief moment. ”No. Um, actually, it”s not.” My gaze lifts to Quentin”s intense green eyes. ”Which means you should probably leave.”
He stares at me then nods. ”Yeah, that”s probably best.” His eyes drop to his white robe. ”Might be better if I get dressed before taking off.”
A laugh escapes me, a bit uneven. ”Right. Um, I might have something you can wear. Alex left some clothes here... a while back.”
Quentin”s eyes narrow, the air in the room seemingly getting colder.
”Alex, as in your ex?”
”Yeah.” I blink. ”So?”
He arches an eyebrow. ”Just curious if there”s a story behind those clothes. How they ended up here and not with Alex.”
”It”s really none of your business, Quentin.” I cross my arms. ”But if you must know, he left them here last time he... helped me move a couch.”
”Ah, moving furniture. The go-to ex-boyfriend hobby.”
”Are you going to take the clothes, or would you prefer a dramatic exit in a robe?”
Quentin glances at his damp clothes then back at me, sighing deeply. “You know, a dramatic exit doesn’t sound half bad. Adds a bit of flair, don”t you think?”
He grabs his wet clothes, throws me a cryptic look, and heads for the stairs. Even in a robe that”s too small, his tall, muscled frame is hard to ignore.
My body, still vivid with his touch, wants to follow him. To explain. Or to stop him.
But my mind, finally kicking in, knows it”s futile.
Nothing good can come from anything ”more” with Quentin Anderson.
So I stay put, watching as he takes the stairs, leaving me with my jumbled emotions and lips still tingling from our kiss. The moment the front door closes, I slump, then hurry back to my bedroom.
I’ve got work to do. And an engagement party to plan.
Feeling a tightness in my chest, I grab my phone off the bed and text my employee Freddie, ready to redirect my focus where it needs to be.