Chapter 7 #2
Always will be.
Lifting a hand to cover his, she wraps her fingers around his wrist and uses it to help close the distance, pushing up onto the tips of her toes, her other hand mirroring his, small against the sharp cut of his jaw as she draws him down toward her.
And for a second they just stay still, breathing each other in, too close to look into each other’s eyes. He wishes he could see into hers, wishes he could know what she’s thinking right now.
He’s not sure who moves first. He thinks maybe it was her, but it could just as easily have been him. Either way, when their lips finally touch for the first time, all coherent thought flies out of his mind.
It’s only her mouth and his, the contact soft and tentative and still somehow sending a raging fire through his veins, until her fingers sift through his hair and give it a gentle tug and then he surges into her, his arms the only thing keeping her from falling as the kiss turns bruising.
And then his tongue darts out against her lower lip and her mouth opens to his, deepening the contact.
A deep rumbling groan vibrates through him as she chases his tongue with hers and suddenly, without a thought, he’s lifting her up into his arms and spinning around as they pull back.
The only sound in the room is their ragged, shallow breathing.
He settles her onto the kitchen counter and their eyes meet and for the first time in a very long time, he knows exactly what he’s seeing in them.
Want.
Pure, unadulterated want.
She wants him.
Thank. Fucking. God.
She wraps her legs around his waist and tugs, crossing her ankles at the small of his back while his hands lift to her face again, brushing her soft curls away.
Then he leans in and slants his mouth against hers, taking his time now, exploring her bottom lip before nipping at it gently with his teeth and then nudging it with his tongue.
She follows his every cue and he takes whatever she’s willing to give, kissing her thoroughly, with as much care as he can show without giving himself away completely.
For a moment, he feels her give in to it entirely, surrendering herself to him, and he doesn’t take that lightly.
He knows how tightly controlled she is, how little she depends on other people for anything and that she trusts him enough in this moment, even if it’s just a kiss.
It makes the crack in his heart fracture just a little bit more.
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and he groans, clearly about to dive in again, but she stops him with a whispered, “Wait.”
Instantly, he freezes and his eyes find hers, wide and a little bit vulnerable.
He pulls in a deep breath, studying her carefully. Her hair is a wild mess, her mouth wet, her bottom lip swollen and her chest rising and falling with every heavy breath she takes.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice matching hers, soft and low.
“Yeah, I just . . . I think maybe we’re . . . we’re good.”
“What?”
“The kissing. We’re good, I don’t think we have to worry.”
“Right,” he agrees with a swift nod. He tries to step back, but her legs are still wrapped around him, their lower bodies pressed together.
Quickly she releases him, and he tries not to think too hard about the way those shorts had ridden up and how all he wants is to run his hands up the smooth skin of her thighs and maybe around to her ass .
. . and from there, who knows what that might have led to . . .
. . . which is exactly why it’s a good thing it didn’t happen.
Xavier steps back and runs a shaky hand through his hair, knowing he’s just making it even more of a wreck.
“Sorry if I . . .”
“No, I mean . . . don’t apologize, it was . . . it was good.”
A small grin quirks up at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, it was. See? I was right.”
She smiles back, the tension broken, somehow. “Are you going to include your case study in your presentation?”
He lets out a laugh. “You know what, it might liven things up a bit.”
“Are you saying our field of study is dry?”
“I’m saying that I don’t think anyone on my panel has ever had a kiss that hot and they should be made aware of what they’re missing.”
She rolls her eyes at him and his smile grows, like it always does whenever she’s exasperated with him.
“I’m, uh, gonna grab a shower,” she says.
“Yeah, yeah, okay. Um, when you’re done, would you mind . . .”
She cuts him off with a smile. “Listening to your presentation again and asking pertinent questions at the end? Of course I will.”
When she leaves for the bathroom, his body thrums for hers, protesting her sudden departure, and he has to fight the urge to spin around and dive back into her or to ask to join her, undressing her as they stumble together, leaving their clothes in a trail leading to the bathroom and . . .
. . . what?
Fuck her up against the shower wall?
Yeah, that’s a great plan, because then what?
Then whatever semblance of control he has over his feelings will be gone and he’s not sure his heart could take the rejection that would be sure to follow.
And there it is.
The line.
He found it and it turns out it’s his line, not hers.
He’s not sure how he manages it, but with the sound of her shower echoing in his ears and the heat of her mouth still warming his, he falls back onto the couch and attempts to shift his mind back to his presentation semi-successfully.
At least he’s able to get back to the spelling not embarrassing and grammar good level of work he’d been doing before she got back home. Amelia’s in his lap again, head at the edge of his computer like she’s waiting for his fingers to leave the keyboard so she can pounce.
Amelia.
The name is from a book series, Bianca said.
Minimizing the presentation, he searches Amelia Peabody, and a whole list of books pops up on his screen, twenty of them like she said.
Once he defends this thing, maybe he’ll pick them up and power through them before he leaves.
She said they’re her favorites and that he reminds her of one of the characters.
Maybe if he gets through them he’ll be able to figure out which one.
“Listen, I was thinking . . .” Her voice draws him back to the present and he slams the laptop shut like she walked in on him watching porn.
Amelia takes off like a shot at the sudden motion, yowling in protest as she flies by Bianca’s legs into her bedroom.
Bianca’s bare feet, toenails painted light pink, give him pause.
He hadn’t thought of her as a girl who’d wear light pink toenail polish.
She crosses one foot over the other as she leans against the doorframe, wrapped in that robe from the other day, wet hair down and loose.
Xavier clears his throat and blinks at her, trying to focus. “What about?”
“That was a good kiss,” she says, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. Understatement of the fucking century, but he’ll roll with it.
“Yeah, it was,” he says, ready to spring up from the couch cushions as fast as Amelia had and repeat the experience if she wants, despite every misgiving he has.
“I think maybe,” she says, hesitating, “we shouldn’t . . . do that again.”
“Kiss?” he manages to choke out because now that he’s kissed her, he never, ever wants to stop. He will, obviously, if that’s what she wants, but . . . shit, he thought he’d have at least two months to revel in the ability to kiss her whenever she wanted and now . . .
“Kiss like that ,” she clarifies, “you know, with that level of . . .”
“Heat?” he asks, clearing his throat. And okay, that’s . . . okay. Actually, maybe it’s better, because kissing like that would probably lead to other things, things that they wouldn’t be able to take back.
“Heat,” she says, like she’s testing the word on her tongue.
“Excellent euphemism, no?” he asks, his voice finally regulating to a normal tone.
“Mediocre, actually,” she teases. “You should read more romance novels.” He snorts and she smiles at him, small and unsure, but still, it’s a smile. “But yeah, that level of heat, I think that’s my line.”
A sudden dread twists in his gut. “Did I do something that made you uncomfortable?” he asks, half terrified by his own question.
“No, no,” she reassures him quickly. “That’s not it. Definitely not it. That’s the opposite of it.”
“Oh . . .” He starts and then it hits him. “ Oh .”
“Yeah. Oh .”
It isn’t that she was uncomfortable, it’s that she’s uncomfortable with how it made her feel, because that’s what he’d done, he’d made her feel.
And despite the disappointment, knowing that he’s not going to be able to repeat the experience, there’s something about the knowledge that he’d affected her to that extent that’s nearly as good. Not actually, but . . . close.
“Okay,” he agrees, “that’s the line, then. A little casual, affectionate touching and keeping things PG. I can do that.”
“Yeah?” she asks.
“Of course. Like I said, you’re the boss.”