Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Elizabeth
W hen Kenny’s lips touched mine, I didn’t hold back.
And hallelujah, neither did he.
He teased with soft, short presses and I responded in kind. When he coaxed my mouth open, I willingly complied. His hands burned a path long my ribs, then skipped to angle my head so he could take the kiss even deeper.
My hands were on him, too, snaking under the layer of his button-down and then the soft cotton undershirt beneath it to press my freezing hands into the warm, taut flesh of his abs. He gasped and broke our kiss, a laugh ringing out between us before he bent and hauled me over his shoulder.
“Hey!” I shout-laughed as he jogged into the living room, and I marveled at both how easily he moved with an entire human over his shoulder, and his joyous cackle .
He might’ve been intense and extremely sexy while doing so, but he was still him.
I loved it.
I love— Nope. Not going there.
He flopped me over his shoulder and onto the couch, then instantly kneeled on either side of my body, hands resting on either side of my head.
The mirth had been replaced by heat, and the combination of the two was undeniably compelling. I tugged at the bottom of his shirt, and he leaned up, wrenching both shirts over his head in a move I wouldn’t have thought possible with a button-down, and dropped back to all fours.
“Better?” he asked, that silky-sensual voice back.
I reached up to trace a tattoo that snaked along his collarbones and nodded. “Yes.”
His gorgeous blue eyes bore into mine as he pulled one of my hands away from his body, then pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to my palm.
“Better warm you up,” he said.
“Guess you better,” I said, only half solid as the rest of me had liquified.
A dark, low laugh rumbled out of him as he nipped at the heel of my hand before returning it to rest against his chest.
His gaze caught on our hands, the three fingers of his left hand pressing over mine and a flash of something crossed his face, interrupting the steady stream of confidence and desire.
“What?” I asked in a whisper.
“Does this bother you?” He furrowed his brow when he held up the hand that’d endured such trauma.
I instantly moved to take it in both of mine and pressed it to my chest, just over my heart. “No. Sometimes, it breaks my heart a little to think of what it must’ve been like to heal from this, body and mind, but to me, this is proof of life. Proof you survived something and chose to keep going. I honestly don’t think of it at all, other than that it’s you.”
He nodded. “It was a bomb disarming gone wrong, for the record. That was an awful day, and it hurt a lot of people I love, so I like to make it something lighter.”
I brought his hand up and kissed the side of it. “Shark attacks are hilarious.”
He laughed, eyes twinkling.
I sobered. “Thank you for telling me. And please believe that it doesn’t bother me. I’m sorry for what you lost, but I am so grateful the rest of you is here.” Heat flushed as I raised his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. “I think of how I want both of your hands on me all the time.”
His throat bobbed, and I thought I might combust before he moved, but then bless him, he did.
His lips found mine and he kissed me with dizzying focus. My hands on his skin—now pressed back against his chest, then his shoulders—warmed, while his fingers explored with feather-light pressure along my collarbone. I urged him closer until he settled into the slim space next to me, our bodies flush with heat far beyond the room’s warmth.
Every part of me he touched burst to life, blood humming and nerve endings firing. His hands roamed, as did mine, and I wondered if I’d ever get tired of his taste, his warm, clean scent, his touch.
We kissed for what felt like hours and I couldn’t recall the last time I’d simply kissed someone like this until my mind was fuzzy and all I wanted was to get closer. But where I would’ve moved ahead, he pulled back, and where I pressed for a little more, he held us steady, not depriving but not driving beyond a certain pace.
At one point, with my hands in his hair and his lips against my neck, I made a sound of both pleasure and frustration. It was one second, maybe two, and then he sat up and pressed his hands to his head, exhaling slowly with his elbows on his knees like he might be sick.
Concern filled me and I sat up, too, setting a hand on his arm to urge him in my direction, but he kept his head in his hands and his gaze cast down.
“I’m sorry, Liz, but I can’t keep going. I want to, but I just…”
When his eyes met mine, my heart clutched.
I wasn’t someone who pretended I could read everything about someone by looking in their eyes, but Kenny might as well have spelled the words out with marker across his cheeks. He was in agony, but not simply because he was holding himself back physically.
He was in love.
With me.
I knew it as surely as I had ever known anything in my whole life—maybe more. The surety I’d had when I decided to go to Georgetown. The clarity I’d felt when I signed my employment documentation with the CIA. The confidence I’d embraced when I accepted the job in Kappa Sector.
And now, this.
This sweet, sexy, wonderful man was in love with me. And for reasons I didn’t totally understand, but knew on a gut-level, it was tearing him apart.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, wanting to both draw closer to him, urge him to be with me right now, and also to run away. That was my thing, wasn’t it? So how could I stay when I would leave him ?
His jaw flexed. “Nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all. It’s me. I’m not… casual. And I don’t… I don’t think I’d survive it.”
If we slept together and then I left.
A bitter laugh slipped out, but I wasn’t upset with him. It was this situation, or maybe with me. With the reality that I would go back to work and leave him here, even when it was breaking my heart, too.
Because I would go back. That life was the only one I knew. This here, it had been an interlude. I had built my entire existence elsewhere.
“I get it. I really do.” It was all I could offer him. I squeezed his arm, fleetingly admiring the smooth curve of his bicep and the swirls of ink covering the upper side and onto his shoulder.
He was so beautiful, every part of him.
“I should probably go. But I…”
His jaw flexed again and then he reached for me, drawing my face to his with a warm palm at my cheek, claiming my mouth in a kiss that seared into my mind and my body, and didn’t stop until I felt so thoroughly undone, I had no words left.
He stood and pulled on his undershirt, making quick work of unbuttoning the shirt and slipping his arms into it, then his jacket. I stayed put, watching his movements, hoping I didn’t look too pathetic as he left, heart aching even though I understood. He was right.
I finally summoned the wherewithal to stand and walk him to the door. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my cheek, my temple, and then ducked for one more at my lips. He tucked the hair that’d become wild behind one ear and gently touched his forehead to mine before pulling the door open .
“Call me tomorrow, if you’re free.” And then he left.
And for the first time in as long as I could remember, I returned to the couch and cried myself to sleep.