Chapter 23 #2
He must be a homebody like me and this knowledge settles over me like a soft and worn blanket.
We clean up the pizza, throwing away paper plates and napkins.
I fold up the throw blanket that covered me throughout most of the movie, thinking about Lucy from Chicago.
Thinking about finding love where you don’t expect it, by a hospital bed or a subway turnstile.
When I return to the kitchen, Ryan is hunched over the sink, arms braced, and I can see the muscles bunching along his forearms. His body is one tight coil.
I can almost feel the tension, thick and unyielding between us, and I press my face to his back.
“Thank you,” I say. “Tonight was exactly what I needed. A friend to listen and hang out with me when I start to spin.”
He hangs his head and a sigh of what must be relief comes out of him, but he doesn’t turn around.
“Good,” he says. “Glad you feel better.”
I should move away now but he just smells so amazing and it’s been a long while since I held on to a man like this.
His arms feel strong and he’s so utterly male.
It’s one of those moments in life when you know you should stop but your body isn’t listening.
The physical part of you is disconnected from your mind and heart.
When he turns to face me the look in his eyes could best be described as tortured. His blue irises are darker than normal, and they’re pinched at the sides. He’s Heathcliff on the moor. He’s Mr. Darcy. He’s every tragic hero rolled into one.
He throws his head back with a groan. “Luci, please. I’m not a damned saint.”
And even though I wasn’t prepared for this reaction from him, I’m ready.
“Maybe I don’t want you to be.”
We’re so close I can see a speck of green in the blues of his right eye.
My arms lowered when he turned, and he brings my hand up to his lips.
I don’t know what I’m doing here. Clearly, not thinking.
I would love him to join me in this. He cups the side of my jaw and lowers his head only to stop midway, like he’s changed his mind.
I can’t let that happen. This is what I want and in that flash of a moment, I close the distance.
Standing on tiptoes I press my lips to his.
I’ve never been this bold in my life, and the kiss has my entire body thrumming and pulsing.
It’s quickly reminding me of the fire he built with one match.
We are the right kindling and I’m about to burst into flames.
This is bananas. Totally nuts. This is not me.
It’s not what I do, or how I roll. I’m not looking to jump into a relationship until I figure out a few things for myself.
And I never make the first move, but my body isn’t listening to my far more lucid brain as he deepens the kiss.
The tough bristles of his stubble against my skin are marking me.
Changing me. Ryan knows what he’s doing.
He kisses me with intention and passion.
We are taking leaning to a whole new level, bodies pressed together hip to hip, tasting each other.
And it’s thrilling, romantic, sweet and sexy. It’s everything.
But like any great writer, Ryan has words. He pulls back and presses his forehead to mine, his hand still in my hair.
“This is…not a good idea.”
My body screeches to a halt and catches up to my far superior brain. I don’t like these words but he’s right. Still, I’m the one who showed up on my employer’s doorstep. And here I am taking liberties with his mouth.
I take a step back, holding up my palms. “No. I’m sorry, you’re right.”
“I know.” He drops his hands to his sides and at least he sounds miserable while he’s turning me down.
Even so, a spike of humiliation shoots through me. That’s what I get for making the first move. He’s used to turning down advances.
“This must happen to you a lot. Sexy young professor, women making the moves on you.”
His eyes narrow. “No. It never has. There are clear boundaries I won’t ever cross.”
“No, of course not. I seem to have crossed them for you.” Shame presses down my shoulders, and my cheeks flush with heat.
“You can’t possibly think I didn’t want that to happen.” He looks down at me quizzically. “I almost kissed you myself.”
“Almost being the key word here. You didn’t. I did.” I turn in a circle, frustration bubbling out of me. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not sorry, Luci.” His arms are crossed now, perhaps creating the distance to keep me from attacking him again. “There’s never been anyone like you before and I don’t know how to handle this.”
I think of his beautiful ex, with the straight dark hair. “I’m just not your type.”
“You’re very much my type.” He makes air quotes. “But we’re not exactly on an even playing field. It would be unfair for me to take advantage of this situation.”
It’s big of him to take this stance, since I’m the one who initiated the kiss. He’s letting me off the hook.
“I understand. You’re my boss.”
“For now, yes. I’m also six years older than you.”
“So what? That’s nothing. It wouldn’t even rate that as an age-gap romance.”
He all but rolls his eyes at me. “And whether or not you realize it, you’re not available.”
I don’t correct the available part because I worry he’s right. I’ve been saying this to my mother, Sofia, and anyone who will listen. They don’t listen and apparently, my body isn’t even listening because it’s Ryan and he’s the exception.
This is my time. Time to stand up to the people in my life who’ve always wanted me to adhere to their ideas of who I am or who I should be. Thinner. Forgiving. Easygoing. Happy to settle for what I can get.
Maybe Ryan is on to something. With a marriage behind him, and an understanding of commitment I don’t have, he might be right.
“Do you need anything else before bed?” Ryan asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“No, I’ll be fine. Thank you,” I say and without another word I head to the guest room.
“Luci?” he calls out, and I turn just outside the door. “Sleep well.”
“Not a chance, but I’ll try,” I say before I open and shut the door.