Chapter 17
Seventeen
Ky
I expect him to be pissed about dinner.
I would have been—or if not pissed, at least annoyed after spending the time prepping, not to mention the money on the food.
Or maybe it’s that I expect him to be upset about my behavior.
Acting like a lunatic—throwing myself at him one moment, panicking on the kitchen floor the next.
Except…I hadn’t.
Tonight, I hadn’t panicked.
But he knew I was riding that edge, didn’t he?
I hadn’t missed that was precisely when he pulled back.
Which just makes me like him all that much more.
Same as his smile at my At least we have wine?
Now he moves toward me and cups my cheek. “How are you at chopping carrots?”
“I’m better at peeling potatoes,” I say, not quite sure where the sass is coming from.
Except…that it’s me.
The me I am with my friends. The me I am with Damon.
The me I used to be with men before—
No.
I don’t want to think about that, about him. I want to enjoy tonight, enjoy feeling like myself, enjoy…
Just enjoy.
“Well,” he says, “all the potatoes are currently ash in the oven so you’ve got your choice of onions, peppers, or carrots.”
A flicker of guilt. “Do you want me to order something in? Since I ruined dinner?”
His finger slides down my throat, along my collarbone, and I shiver.
“I think we were both responsible for making charcoal, and I have plenty of food—” His voice rises, drowning out my protests. “So, carrots, onions, or peppers?” He leans in, brushes his lips over my jaw. “Or sitting there looking beautiful while I do the chopping?”
I shiver, give in to the need clawing at me to run my fingers through his beard. “You giving up shaving?”
A lazy shrug. “Didn’t have the energy to bother.” He searches my face. “You don’t like it?”
I think about the slightly rough hairs brushing over my skin…my throat, my breasts, my belly…lower…and I shiver.
His mouth tips up. “You like it.”
“Arrogant man.”
“Happy man that I’ve finally got the beautiful woman who’s kept me on tenterhooks for the better part of two years finally flirting with me.” He drops his hands to the counter, one on either side of my body. Caging me in.
But I’m not scared.
“This is flirting?” I tease. “Telling me to get in the kitchen?”
“You’re already in the kitchen.” Another brush of his lips over my cheek, my jaw, dragging their way over to my ear. “Now you just need to start cooking.”
My hand has somehow made its way into his hair, is clinging tightly to the silky strands, so it takes me a moment to process the words.
Then I do, gasping in outrage. “Seriously?” I snap, tugging now, but not hard.
Only so I can see his face, can see what I know is going to be in the deep brown eyes.
And yup.
Humor.
Teasing.
Mischief.
And below all of those…need.
It sends my pulse skittering through my veins.
Because I have that same need, that same yearning. From the moment I first saw him in the hallways at the Sierra’s arena, I was drawn to him.
And now I’m here.
Now I’m learning him.
Now he’s smiling and teasing.
Now we’ve touched, kissed…
“You do the carrots,” I say. “I’ll do the onions and peppers.”
“Anything for you, Teach.”
My lungs inflate in a rush.
Because I think he means exactly that.
“More?” I ask in disbelief.
“There’s no such thing as too much garlic.”
“Except when it’s so intense that it gives me garlic breath,” I protest.
No one wants to kiss a gross, garlicky mouth.
He shoves another clove into the garlic press and squeezes, dropping the extruded contents into the pot of soup he’s somehow whipped up.
Lasagna soup because he didn’t have enough noodles to make a full pan, but he had the rest of the ingredients.
“Two garlic breaths make a right.”
I just shake my head, but I’m smiling and—
Then I’m being kissed—a short, blazing press of his mouth that sets my heart pumping.
“Wh-what are you doing?” I ask as he pulls back, grinning.
“Getting my fill of you before garlic breath.”
Startled, I laugh, and he opens his mouth, no doubt to tease me again when his phone rings. He tugs it out of his pocket, silences it. “My brother,” he explains.
“Answer it,” I say. “I’ll keep adding garlic.” A beat. “To fend off the vampires and all.”
He grins, brushes his mouth over mine, and swipes, lifting his phone to his ear. “Blake,” he says, hand settling on my back, fingers brushing lightly over the curve of my hip.
I haven’t missed what he’s doing with the soft touches, the gentle presses of his mouth.
Getting me used to him being close—to touches from a man that aren’t scary, that don’t bring pain, that won’t drag me back into a nightmare.
Just me and him…
And the fire he’s building inside me, one ember at a time.
I exhale, relax into him, am rewarded with his warm body and his spicy scent and the rumble of his voice as he talks to his brother.
“Noodles,” he murmurs and it takes a minute for me to realize he’s talking to me.
“What?”
“You can add the noodles now,” he says, reaching past me and snagging the bowl.
I take it from him, dumping the contents into the pot and stirring.
“Yes”—Colt sighs—“that’s a girl.”
Amusement has me glancing up at him. He’s shaking his head, but his mouth is curved and when his eyes meet mine, they’re filled with humor.
“No,” I hear. “You don’t need to talk to her.”
Curiosity blossoms in my belly. “I’d love to talk to him.”
An aggrieved look as his chin drops forward, his brows lifting in a silent, “Really?”
I smile beatifically. “Really,” I murmur.
The phone starts chiming as Blake transitions the call from audio to video. Colt swipes again, points the screen in my direction, and then I’m seeing a face that’s much like Colt’s, except younger and thinner.
“She’s too hot for you, bro.”
I suck in a surprised breath.
“Thanks for being cool,” Colt grumbles. “Blake, this is Kylie. Kylie, this is Blake.”
“Hi, Blake,” I say, leaning into his brother a little more heavily, something settling in me when Colt’s fingers continue to make small patterns on my hip.
“Way too hot for you,” Blake says.
“Just because we’re related doesn’t mean I won’t end you,” Colt threatens almost cheerfully.
Blake grins. “You could try.”
“I would succeed.”
“Not hard when all you have to do is unplug a cord and my lungs would quit working.”
I jerk, mouth falling open.
“He’s joking,” Colt tells me, those fingers on my hip becoming soothing.
“Only partially,” Blake says, touching the strip of plastic running under his nose. “I need this and a couple other machines, so it would require more than one unplug.”
Colt groans, dropping his forehead to my shoulder, the sensation a shock…though not a bad one.
I kind of like it—this big hockey player wrapped around me, leaning on me, even if it’s only just a tiny bit.
“Why do I have the feeling that the reason you’re so good with my kids is because of this hooligan?” I tease, giving in to the urge to stroke my fingers through the softness of his hair.
“You have kids?” Blake asks.
“She’s a middle school teacher,” Colt says, the words hot and warm, sinking in through the material of my sweater.
“Yeah? What subject?”
“History,” I supply.
“Wicked cool. I love history.”
“Go,” Colt murmurs, nudging me toward the table. “I’ll finish this up.”
“But he’s your brother. I don’t want—”
“Eh, I talk to him all the time,” Blake says silkily. “Today, I want to talk to you.”
I find myself unable to resist his charm. “Will you give me all the embarrassing stories?”
Colt groans, reaching for the phone. “Maybe I should—”
“Soup,” I say, dancing out of reach, knowing my smile is wide.
“Why do I think letting you two talk is a mistake?” he asks.
“Probably because it is?” Blake quips.
I laugh—because I’d been thinking the same thing. Grinning at Colt’s brother, I say,
“Oh, I think we’re going to get along great.”