Chapter 3 #2
“Figurines,” Daisy said, sneaking another bite of cake, once again licking her lips and the fork. “Tyler loves to collect. Two men, of course.”
They both looked at Diego.
Since he was having a hard time thinking past the sweet glide of Daisy’s tongue along the fork, he simply nodded.
“Done,” the baker said, smiling widely, typing on her tablet as fast as she could. “This is wonderful. Everyone happy?”
“Very,” Daisy said.
They both looked over at Diego, who needed a sharp stick to stab himself with.
“What do you think?” the baker asked.
What did he think? He thought that his testosterone levels had dropped dangerously just sitting there. Standing, he fished out a credit card, which he thrust at the baker. “Let’s get this done.”
Five minutes later, Daisy was glowering at him as they exited the bakery. “You couldn’t have been any more obnoxious.”
“You underestimate me.”
She snorted. “Seriously, you’re such an a—”
“Amazing brother?”
“I was going to say asshole.”
They were in front of the bike now. Daisy had parked next to him.
“Just…take in the big picture here,” she said.
“Which is what? That Rocco and Tyler ditched us here today on purpose for who knows what reason other than to torture me?”
She rolled her eyes. “I like how you assume you’re the only one being tortured.”
“Hey, I’ve been nothing but a—”
“I swear to God if you say delight…”
He shrugged.
She sighed, looking a little overheated and frustrated and ticked off, which made two of them.
Except under all that spark and sass, he saw the flicker of nerves—the kind that came from remembering exactly how good they’d been together once upon a time. Staring at his mouth, she swallowed hard, and his chest tightened in answer.
“Look,” she said, her hand brushing his as she gestured, and the jolt of contact was ridiculous—like striking flint..
“Rocco’s in love,” she said, “He’s marrying the man of his dreams, so it’s not about you or me. Or us. Or the utter lack of an us—"
“Funny, because it feels a whole bunch like it’s about us,” he said.
She opened her mouth to argue that—because God forbid she not argue with every little thing he said—and he decided he’d had enough.
He could taste the words she was about to throw at him, sharp and sure as always, and something in him just snapped.
Ten years of wanting her and resenting her and missing her crashed together until it was all heat and instinct.
So, he pulled her to him and covered her mouth with his.
He’d meant to shut her up, of course, but what he hadn’t intended was to forget himself, the wedding, his brother, and everything but the soft little sound that escaped her throat just before she fisted her hands in his shirt.
That tiny sound undid him—the kind of noise that hit straight below his ribs and reminded him how she’d always tasted like trouble and home.
Going to shove me away or kiss me back, babe?
To his relief, she kissed him back.
More than that, she pressed all those sweet, sexy curves up against him. Her body fit to his like memory, like muscle recall, like maybe they’d been waiting for this the whole damn decade.
With a groan, he wrapped his arms around her, feeling every contour of her sweet bod against his.
Her mouth had started out icy cold from the chill in the air, but it was hot now.
They were both hot. The city noise dimmed until there was nothing but the rasp of his breath and the soft catch of hers.
She made another little sound, a sweet little mewl of pleasure that shot straight through him.
That alone tamed his inner caveman, and an unexpected tenderness and sense of affection hit him hard.
He cupped her face, his thumbs lightly brushing against her cheeks to kiss her again with a soul-searing gentleness he hadn’t even known he possessed.
Because under all that want was something he couldn’t name. Not yet.
“Diego,” she whispered, and he blinked, shocked to find that he had her pressed up against her car.
She had her hands beneath his shirt now, one of them resting over his heart, the other low, nearly at the waistband of his jeans.
Even as he thought it, her fingers lightly danced over his abs, which quivered at her touch.
For a beat, they just stared at each other, both breathing heavily, neither moving. Except for her fingers, which seemed extremely eager to go south. With a groan, Diego caught her hand in his. “Playing with fire.”
She yanked her palm free and lightly banged the back of her head against her driver’s side window a few times. “Because apparently I’ve lost all survival instincts,” she muttered.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to knock something loose,” she said. “Like my good sense.” Lifting her head again, she gave him a light push on the chest.
She wanted space.
Fine by him. He stepped back but didn’t go far.
“You’re looking at me like I’m a ticking time bomb,” she said.
“You are.”
“Flattering.”
“Look…” He tried to access any part of his working brain, but there appeared to have been a shutdown across the board, all circuits down. “That—”
“Can’t happen again,” she said slowly, looking a little uncertain as she took in his expression. Her voice wavered, but she held her chin high, pretending the tremor in her hands was just from the cold.
“When did you come to that conclusion?” he asked. “When you had your tongue shoved down my throat, or when you yanked my shirt up to get to bare skin?”
Her mouth went tight. “When you stopped kissing me and started talking.” She pointed at him. “We made a pact to stay as clear of each other as possible through this. Let’s stick to it.” And then she got in her car and drove away.
He stood there, watching the taillights vanish into the fog, the taste of her still on his tongue and the ache of what-if burning a hole straight through his chest.
The theme song of his life.