22. Chapter 22 #2
I spin toward him, wringing my hands behind my back. “Great. See you…then.” I haul butt to my room, silently berating myself for being so ridiculous. Who even am I right now?
I’m putting the last pin in place when Dane knocks on my bedroom door. “Come in,” I call, rising from the seat in front of my sewing machine. My makeshift workstation is a bit of a mess at the moment, but I like to say it’s organized chaos.
Not that Dane would believe that.
He pokes his head around the side of the door and smiles. “Ready for me?’
So ready, my inner voice practically purrs.
What. The. Heck.
“Uh, yeah.” My voice comes out high and squeaky, and I begin to wonder if maybe I’m getting sick again. That would explain the weird, totally uncalled for thoughts about my roommate. Maybe my brain is fried by an oncoming fever.
“Where do you want me?”
I briefly close my eyes, wishing I could make him stop saying phrases that have the love-starved monster inside me roaring with satisfaction. “Right here is good.” I gesture to where I’m standing.
Dane steps toward me, stopping when he’s within arm’s reach. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve made for me.”
Ignoring his comment and holding the shirt by its collar, I tuck it just under his chin.
“Hold out your arms, please.” He obeys, then I run my hand along each sleeve, pressing them against his arms. “Hm.” I make a mental note that I’ll probably need to adjust the cuff length by a quarter of an inch.
“What’s wrong?” His question has me slowly dragging my eyes to his. We’re close. Close enough I can feel the heat from his body radiating toward mine, can smell how delectable his cologne is.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I say, only halfway meaning it. Something is definitely wrong with my head. Or heart. Possibly both. “Just making mental notes of things I’ll need to adjust.”
“Need to write it down?”
I smirk. “Think I’m good.”
His lips widen into a handsome grin. It’s really too bad he’s got that fuzz on his upper lip. It's enough to make me back away from him.
“All right. I need you to lose the shirt.”
He looks down at this chest before meeting my gaze. “Just…whip it off?”
I shrug even as heat spreads into my cheeks. “It’s the only way to know if this is going to fit right.” I lift the button-up shirt, reminding myself this is normal and necessary.
I’m a professional. Having a shirtless guy in my bedroom for a fitting is par for the course. So what if this is my first-ever male fitting? I have got to get used to this sort of thing.
Except this shirtless guy is Dane, the inner voice whispers. Your hot and thoughtful roommate.
I suck in a steadying breath and mentally tell the chick who is my inner voice to shut up as Dane raises his arms and pulls his shirt over his head. It takes me a few seconds…minutes, maybe…to remember why this was a good idea.
Because Dane’s chiseled physique is glorious .
I’ve never used that word before in my life, but it’s literally the only one that could describe the toned, tan, perfectly etched chest and stomach muscles staring back at me . Hot dang , the man’s abs don’t stop. They just keep going. And going. To places I refuse to let my mind wander.
I swallow, shoving the shirt into his stomach. “Here. Put it on. Now.”
Dane fumbles to get a grip on the shirt with a slightly furrowed brow. “Right.”
I watch as he stretches his arms through the sleeves, one at a time. It’s then I realize I could’ve just turned around and pretended to busy myself with something instead of staring at him like the perfectly yummy piece of man that he is.
I finally do, fighting with everything in me not to mentally recall the image of him shirtless. And perfect. And I bet he’s warm. And a good hugger with those muscular arms—
“Ready,” he says with a hint of humor in his voice. “You can turn around now.”
My gaze drops to my hands that were doing nothing more than twisting my pink measuring tape round and round my forefinger.
I’m an idiot.
I close my eyes and breathe through my nose. Then turn.
The pink and blue striped shirt molds to Dane’s defined muscles effortlessly.
“How does it look?” he asks, adjusting the collar.
“ Really good.” I can’t help the smile that blooms on my face. I step forward and do a slow turn around him, swiping a hand over some of the seams. Dane stiffens a bit under my touch. “Sorry, just making sure everything fits as it should.”
“You’re good. Do your thing.”
With his back to me, I do just that, and silently, albeit shamelessly, check him out. “This one’s meant to be worn tucked in. I’m hoping to make some dark navy pants to go with it.” I tear my gaze away, then walk back to his front. “Does it feel too tight anywhere?”
“Not at all.” He swings his arms a bit, stretching his shoulders. “What kind of fabric is this? It feels so light and breathable.”
“It’s a cotton-polyester blend.” I run both hands along the top of his shoulders, then down his arms, stopping at the cuffs. “Are these too tight at all?”
“No, they feel great.”
I lift my eyes to his buttoned-up collar. “This is meant to be undone.” Taking the liberty myself, I undo the top button. “There,” I say with a smile, pressing my palms along his chest. “That’s better.”
Dane’s hard muscles flex under my hands and I freeze. Swallow. He doesn’t move away from me, and I can’t bring myself to lower my hands. They seem to have been possessed by the stubborn romance-crazed monster-woman inside of me.
Dane’s heart pounds under my palm, and I can feel his heated attention. Slowly, I allow my eyes to drift to his face. But the second I do, I realize that was a mistake. The way he’s looking at me, it’s…
Hot like molten lava. So incredibly intense. Addicting.
I can’t tell if I’m leaning toward him or he’s leaning toward me, but I know we’ve inched closer because his sweet tea scented breath fans over my face when he whispers, “I really like this shirt.”
I blink, shifting my gaze between his eyes. “It feels great on you.”
The side of his mouth lifts higher.
“I mean, it looks great on you.” As if mocking my statement, my rogue fingers splay wider, lightly running over the fabric across Dane’s muscular chest.
“You’re very talented.” His voice drops lower. So, so much lower. Then his eyes snag on every feature of my face. “And beautiful.”
My breath hitches. I sway toward him. Dane’s fingers lightly graze the front of my hip, toy with the hem of my top. “Did you make this?” he asks in a deliciously husky whisper.
I give a small shake of my head as my stomach muscles clench. There’s no schooling my reaction to him now. I can see it in the way his irises darken, the way his wicked smile grows.
The scariest part about the realization, though, is that I’m not sure I want to. Why would I want to hide the way I feel when being this near him is so intoxicating ?
“Dane.”
“Hm?”
“I—” The words that spring to mind lodge in my throat.
I want to tell him the truth. That even though he thinks we’re friends, my feelings for him veer too far from the friend zone to be considered friendly .
That every time I worked on his shirt, my thoughts were full of him.
His smile, his laugh, his considerate but still annoying ways.
“You can tell me,” he says, lifting his other hand to brush back the hair from my face. His fingertips lightly graze my cheek. “It’s okay.”
It’s okay.
Those two words give me the courage to say what I’m feeling in this moment. “I missed you.”
Dane’s hand tightens around my hip as his whole body seems to relax. “I missed you too.”
My own body buzzes to life, grasping at his admission with little electrically charged grabby hands. Slowly, my fingers find their way up and twine around his neck. Dane’s large palms settle on my lower back, and he pulls me closer, so close our chests press together.
We’re locked in a silent stare-down, neither one of us seeming to want to break whatever trance we’re in.
“Do you really hate the mustache?”
I zero in on the offensive fuzzy caterpillar. “I don’t like the way it looks.”
His dark gaze finds mine. “Have you ever kissed anyone with a mustache before?”
My stomach tightens, swoops, screams with anticipatory delight. “N-no.”
Shoot. Now I’m stuttering.
“You might like it,” he says, shamelessly staring at my mouth. “Some girls do.”
I lift an eyebrow. “How do you know?”
His soft mouth morphs into a confident smirk. “Max says so.”
“Is Max your life coach or something?”
He huffs a laugh, and as his warm breath skitters over me, I shiver. “No. He’s just a friend who’s experienced with women.”
Both eyebrows rise at that. “And you’re not? Experienced?”
His one shoulder lifts and lowers in a shrug. “I wouldn’t be opposed to more… experience .” The pointed emphasis he puts on that last word has my knees weakening. “Unless you’re too chicken to give it a try.”
I purse my lips, fighting back a smile. Is this man seriously goading me into kissing him?
And worse, am I loving every second of it?
“I’m always up for new experiences .” I place my own emphasis on the word, toying with the hair at his nape.
Take that, Charles Dane.
“All right. So we’re agreed.” One of his hands slides from my back to my neck, where he kneads the muscles there lightly. “We’re going to kiss and you’re going to tell me if you like it.”
His words trickle over my skin like warm rain, washing away the last of my reservations. “Okay.” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m ready.”
He seems to do the same, his chest rising and falling back to touch mine.
Then the hand massaging my neck tightens, drawing me closer.
I press up onto my tiptoes and let myself sink into him.
Our mouths meet hungrily, not slowly or tentatively or even tenderly.
We devour each other like both of us have waited lifetimes to finally share a kiss.
My lips part immediately under the pressure of his, drawing him in, pushing him back. Dane growls as his hand tightens on my waist. It’s as if he wants to shove me away from him as badly as he wants to yank me closer. Our heavy breaths mingle; I run my nails along his scalp.
He pulls back slightly, whispers into my mouth. “I thought about you all day every day I was away. Couldn’t stop myself from texting you every chance I got.”
I drag him closer, needing to feel his mouth on mine again after that. He teases my lips with his, pulling my lower lip into his teeth. I let out a mewling sound that’s so embarrassing I could cry, then force myself back.
“I hate how much I think of you,” I say honestly. “Hate that I can’t stop.” I attempt to pull Dane closer, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, a slow smile lifts his lips as he brushes back the hair that frames my face with his fingertips.
“You want me.”
“No.” I inwardly flinch at the lie. “Maybe. I mean…I don’t know what I want.”
His smirk grows. “But you do know you want to keep kissing me.” He doesn’t wait for a response, but I hum one anyway when his mouth descends on mine again. Our kisses are slower this time, more affectionate. Longing and something more pour into me with each pass of his lips.
It’s as if Dane’s kisses are an apology and a hundred little promises mixed into one. I want you , he seems to say. I’m sorry it’s taken us this long to get here . Regret, fear, and even elation course through me at rapid fire speed. An overwhelming array of emotions floods my body, and I quiver.
Dane pulls back, holding my face captive in his large, capable hands. I expect him to say something romantic, something that reflects what we just shared. But instead, he says, “So…” before his expression turns playful. “What do you think? Does it feel better than it looks?”
It takes my brain a minute to catch up.
The mustache. He’s talking about the mustache.
I instantly recall the light scratch of it against my face and wrinkle my nose. “If you ever want to kiss me again, you’ll shave it.”
Dane’s expression sobers. “It'll be gone by tomorrow.”