5. Chapter 5
Gavin
I should have handed her a napkin.
Instead, I put my thumb on her mouth and let it linger against her lip long enough to know exactly how soft it was.
Then I walked back to my side of the island before I did something worse.
Now Hannah is sitting across from me, taking an angry bite of cinnamon roll while I drink coffee and pretend I didn’t come within an inch of kissing her thirty seconds ago.
Smart.
I could put on a shirt. I probably should, considering the way her eyes keep finding my chest.
I don’t.
I’m still hot from training, but that isn’t the only reason I leave the shirt off. Catching her staring through the window earlier made one thing painfully clear.
I like her watching me.
Especially when keeping my own eyes off her is becoming damn near impossible.
She sits with one leg tucked beneath the other, curls wild, her loose T-shirt hanging soft over all the curves I want my hands on.
I take another sip of coffee.
Doesn’t do a damn thing.
Her gaze drops to my chest again.
I catch her.
She realizes it and looks up, color spreading over her cheeks.
Good.
At least I’m not suffering alone.
She takes another bite of the cinnamon roll.
“You’re doing it again.”
I lean back against the counter behind me. “Doing what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
Her eyes narrow. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“You know exactly what.”
I do.
I also know I should leave this alone.
Hannah has dangerous men looking for her, a brother she can’t reach, and enough trouble waiting outside my door without me adding another complication.
Then she puts down the cinnamon roll.
“You keep getting close to me.”
I hold her gaze.
“Then you stop.”
I say nothing.
She slides off the stool, and that gets every bit of my attention.
“Hannah.”
“No.”
There is still some humor in her voice, but something more serious runs underneath it. She walks around the end of the island and comes straight toward me.
I stay where I am.
“You pin me against a wall.”
“You broke into my house.”
“You put your hands all over me while we train.”
“I was trying to teach you.”
“You wipe icing off my mouth with your thumb like you’re trying to make me lose my mind.”
My mouth almost moves.
“That one was your fault.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “My fault?”
“You got icing on your mouth.”
She stares at me.
I take another sip.
“You are extremely irritating.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Do women usually put up with this?”
I don’t like the question.
More accurately, I don’t like the picture it puts in her head. Other women in this kitchen. Other women standing where she is, looking at me the way she is.
There haven’t been any.
I set my mug down.
Her gaze follows my hand.
“No.”
She looks back at me. “No what?”
“No one puts up with me.”
Her mouth twitches. “That I believe.”
I step toward her.
The amusement disappears from her face.
Stopping would be the smart move.
I close the rest of the distance instead, leaving barely a foot between us.
Her head tips back.
“What are you doing?”
Her voice has gone quieter.
“Seeing if you back up.”
She doesn’t.
Not an inch.
Her pulse beats fast at the base of her throat, and watching it makes mine hit harder.
My eyes drop to her mouth.
She notices.
“You keep doing that too.”
“What?”
“Looking at my mouth.”
I raise my eyes.
“Maybe I like your mouth.”
Her breath catches.
I could have kept that to myself.
I don’t regret saying it.
Her chin lifts. “Maybe?”
Christ.
She has no idea how close I am to losing this fight.
Or maybe she does.
“I like your mouth.”
Her expression changes. The teasing is still there, but something hotter moves underneath it.
The kitchen goes quiet around us. I hear the fire settling in the other room and the soft pull of her breath as she takes another step toward me.
Her shirt brushes my stomach.
“Hannah.”
“What?”
“You know what.”
She looks straight up at me. “No, actually. I don’t.”
Bullshit.
She knows exactly what she is doing.
She wants me to say it.
I move close enough to feel the heat coming off her body.
“You came here because you were in trouble.”
“I know why I came here.”
“I’m trying not to make your life any more complicated.”
Her eyes flick over my bare chest before returning to mine.
“You’re doing a spectacular job.”
My jaw tightens.
Then she reaches out and puts her hand on me.
Everything inside me locks down.
Her palm rests against the center of my chest, warm against my skin. She looks at her own hand like touching me surprised her too, but she doesn’t take it away.
Neither do I.
Her fingers move through the hair on my chest, exploring just enough to make the muscles underneath tighten.
Her eyes follow the reaction.
I drag in a breath through my nose.
She looks up.
There is nervousness in her face, but there is want too.
A lot of it.
Her palm slides lower, across my chest and down my stomach, and she takes her time doing it.
Every inch costs me another piece of control.
I catch her wrist before she reaches the waistband of my sweatpants.
Her gaze jumps to mine.
“That’s enough.”
“Why?”
A rough laugh leaves me.
She really wants the answer.
“Because if you keep putting your hands on me like that, I’m going to stop trying to behave.”
Her pupils widen.
“I didn’t ask you to behave.”
Fuck me.
I stare down at her.
Pink cheeks. Wild curls. Brown eyes fixed on mine while her wrist is still wrapped in my hand.
She has no idea what she is doing to me.
Then again, judging by the look on her face, maybe she’s starting to figure it out.
I release her.
She could drop her hand.
Instead, she puts it right back on my stomach.
Deliberately this time.
Her fingers curl against me, and my abs tighten beneath them.
She watches it happen before lifting her eyes to mine with a small smile full of nerves and trouble.
“That seemed effective.”
That’s it.
I’ve spent two years staying away from this woman. Since she walked through my door, I’ve told myself I can protect her without touching her and stand this close without finding out what she tastes like.
I’m done lying to myself.
My hand closes around the back of her neck.
Her breath catches, but she comes toward me before I can pull her in.
She rises onto her toes.
I take her mouth.
The first taste of Hannah hits hard enough to wipe every decent thought out of my head.
Her lips are warm and soft against mine, and the little sound she makes when I kiss her goes straight to my cock.
My grip tightens at her nape as I take the kiss deeper.
There is nothing careful about the way she answers me.
Her fingers dig into my chest and she opens for me, kissing me back with enough hunger to make it clear I haven’t imagined a damn thing.
Two fucking years.
I spent two years remembering this woman without ever knowing what her mouth felt like.
Now I know, and one kiss isn’t going to be enough.
I wrap an arm around her waist and drag her flush against me.
Her softness meets every hard line of my body at once. Her breasts press against my chest, her soft stomach against my abs, and her hips settle against me so perfectly my cock goes painfully hard.
She feels it.
Her breath catches into my mouth.
For one second, I expect her to tense.
Instead, she presses closer.
A growl tears out of me.
Her hands slide over my shoulders and into my hair, and when she grips, the last of my patience takes another hit.
Fuck.
I kiss her harder.
My hand moves from her waist to her hip, filling my palm with the curve I’ve thought about far too many times. I pull her tighter against me and let her feel exactly what she is doing to my body.
She makes another soft, hungry sound against my mouth.
I want it again.
I want every sound she makes when I touch her. I want to know what I can drag out of her when I get my hands beneath that shirt, when there is nothing between my palms and all that warm, soft skin.
My cock throbs at the thought.
I angle her head and take her mouth deeper until there isn’t room in my head for anything except her.
She gives me everything back, fingers tightening in my hair as she rises against me and kisses me with a hunger that matches mine.
Control is becoming a fucking memory.
I back her toward the island without taking my mouth from hers.
Her hips meet the edge, and I follow her in, keeping her close as my hand spreads over her side.
She is soft beneath my palm.
Exactly the way I imagined.
Only better.
Because imagining her never told me how naturally my hand would settle around her waist, how readily she would come closer when I pulled her in, or how hard she would shiver when my thumb found the strip of bare skin where her shirt had ridden up.
I need more.
My hand slips beneath the cotton.
Her skin is hot against my palm.
She gasps into my mouth.
That sound nearly strips away what little control I have left.
I break the kiss long enough to drag air into my lungs before one kiss turns into me putting her on this island and finding out exactly how much more she’ll let me have.
Her eyes open.
Dark and dazed, fixed on mine.
Her lips are swollen from my mouth.
I stare at them, every decent intention I had hanging by a thread.
“Hannah.”
I don’t even know what the hell I’m about to say.
Doesn’t matter.
She catches my lower lip between hers and kisses me again.
That destroys the rest of it.
I drag her back against me and take her mouth like I’ve been starving for it.
Because I have.