Chapter 18
Cole
TERRIBLE FOR MY EGO
“You want to kiss me now!?” The alarm in her voice is so fucking cute.
“What’s wrong with kissing?” I ask innocently, fighting a smile dying to break free.
A flush takes over her creamy skin. The more flustered she gets, the more I want to keep making it happen.
“I don’t know, I just—”
“Kissing is the first baby step. We can’t go from zero to a hundred.” I drag a hand through my hair, studying her. “I’m trying to be a gentleman here.” A short silence falls between us, one where I can see her starting to spiral. “How about we start with a hug?” I offer instead.
She stares at me like I’ve just suggested something wildly unreasonable, which, for the record, I haven’t.
It’s an innocent hug. I’ve hugged all sorts of people.
It’s not like I asked her to hug my penis.
We’re not there yet. “Come on, doll.” I push to my feet and hold my hand out.
“Don’t act like I have some sort of plague.
We’ve only just begun and you’re already terrible for my ego. ”
She eyes my hand. Then my face. Then my hand again. “I’m not afraid to touch you,” she says, which is exactly what someone who is a little afraid to touch me would say.
“Prove it.” I smirk.
That seems to do the trick and she takes my hand.
I pull her up from the couch and she comes easily, letting out a small, startled gasp when she lands closer to me than she was probably expecting.
Close enough that I can smell her—she’s warm and sweet, vanilla maybe, or brown sugar, the kind of scent that clings to someone who spends their mornings surrounded by things worth tasting. Fucking edible is what she is.
I settle my hands at her waist and she instantly goes very still. “Breathe,” I say quietly.
“I am breathing.” She exhales. A long, shaky one that she’s clearly been holding since she stood up. Her trembling hands come up slowly and find my chest, fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt like she needs an anchor, and that small involuntary grip causes my breath to lodge in my throat.
I pull her in closer on instinct. She fits against me the way I somehow already knew she would—like the space was carved uniquely for her.
Her head reaches my chin, her soft curves pressing against me, and I feel her inhale slowly like she’s steadying herself.
Her fingers loosen their hold on my shirt and spread flat instead, palms against my chest, and I’m suddenly very aware of my own heartbeat in a way I usually only am after running.
I don’t particularly want to think too deeply about that.
“See,” I say, keeping my voice level. “Not so bad.”
“It’s fine,” she says into my chest.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
I feel her smile against my shirt more than I see it.
A small, reluctant twitch of her lips she’s trying to keep to herself.
My hands press a little more firmly at her waist without me making a conscious decision to do it, like my body has its own agenda where she’s concerned.
I’ve been fighting that particular problem since I became her most loyal customer.
She cranes her neck up to look at me. In that small movement, something shifts—the tension between us growing, pulsing like it’s alive, like it’s waiting for one of us to do something about it.
She’s close enough that I can see the slight unevenness of her chest rising and falling, the way her lips have parted ever so slightly. Her blue eyes are wide and soft and too honest—and I watch her gaze drop to my mouth for just a second before she catches herself and brings it back up.
But it’s too late. I already tracked it.
“Cole,” she says softly. A warning, maybe. Or a question. She doesn’t seem sure which one she means.
“Yeah?” I rasp, my throat swallowing sand.
Neither of us moves, both of us standing on the edge of what comes next.
The fire pops behind her. Somewhere outside, one of Nora’s horses shifts in the paddock, the distant sound of hooves stomping against frozen ground drifting in through the walls.
The Christmas tree lights blink softly, all warm gold, and Ariana is standing in the middle of it all looking like something otherworldly.
Someone never meant for me to touch but fuck if I’m going to let that stop me.
I’ve been trying very hard for a long time to not want her. And I’m so fucking tired of denying myself.
My hand moves from her waist to the small of her back, a slow, intentional game of inches, and I hear the air catch in her lungs.
“We should probably keep practicing,” I say quietly, eyes drawn to her pouty lips.
She blinks, her long lashes mesmerizing as they flutter. “The hug?”
“The other thing.”
“Oh, right,” she says, sounding dreamlike.
I can’t tell if she’s against it or not, and I have to be sure. I can’t push too hard. Not her. Not when she trusts me with all her fragile pieces. I want her too badly to risk getting this wrong. “We don’t have to—”
“I know.” She swallows, and I watch it work down her throat. “But we should.”
I give her time. I’m good at a lot of things and patience has never historically been one of them, but I find I have an endless supply of it when it comes to her.
I wait until she tips her chin up the rest of the way, until the distance between us is down to almost nothing, until she closes her eyes like the impact might shatter us.
Then I close the rest of the gap.
It’s soft. Deliberately, carefully soft—just my lips against hers, barely a touch of pressure. She stiffens for half a second before her fingers curl back into my shirt and she kisses me back.
And that’s the part I wasn’t ready for.
Not the kiss itself. I’ve thought about kissing her enough times that the reality of it shouldn’t be a revelation.
But there’s something about the way she does it—tentative and uncertain at first, yet determined and almost demanding, needy in a way that sends a zing of heat down my spine and has my cock thickening beneath the restraint of my briefs.
I pull back before I do something inadvisable.
We stand there for a moment, her hands still fisted in my shirt, eyes hooded and hazy, both of us breathing a little unevenly.
“Okay,” she says finally. Her voice comes out slightly wrecked and she clears her throat. “That was—”
“Yeah,” I agree.
She looks up at me, pupils blown, color high in her cheeks. “That was good practice…”
“So good,” I say, still engulfed in a fog of lust.
We stay unmoving, gazes latched.
And then I stop being smart about it.
My hand finds her jaw before I’ve made a decision, tilting her face up, and this time when I kiss her there’s nothing careful about it.
Just her mouth and mine coming together in a perfect crash.
When my tongue slips between her lips and tangles with hers, she makes a small sound against me that I feel in my sternum.
I expect her to be the one to stop this. To come to her senses where I’ve abandoned any claim to them. But she doesn’t. She’s right there with me.
Her hands slide up my chest and her fingers wrap around the back of my neck and she kisses me back like maybe she’s been thinking about it for as long as I have.
Wishful thinking on my part, but it’s enough to feed me, to keep devouring her, to take what I want for the briefest of moments and indulge in the woman I can’t resist. The tentative version of her from thirty seconds ago is gone.
In its place is a temptress who was just waiting to be drawn out by someone who knew exactly what she needed.
And I’m the lucky bastard who gets to be that someone.
We break apart at the same moment, breathing ragged, foreheads nearly touching.
Her eyes open slowly and I watch her come back to herself—the awareness, then the faint flush that starts at her chest and moves up. Her fingers are still loosely curved around the back of my neck and I don’t think she’s noticed yet.
She steps back and I fight the urge to pull her toward me again.
She smooths her hands down the front of her jeans, looking like she’s trying to compose herself.
I turn toward the fireplace because I need somewhere to look that isn’t her right now.
My body is all too aware of where that could’ve gone, and I’m having a hard time coming back down to reality.
I press two fingers to my mouth for just a second, just long enough to feel the ghost of her still there.
I thought our arrangement would solve everything. Instead, I think it’s going to be a big fucking problem.