Chapter XIII
XIII
Levi
This rental apartment where I’m staying can’t be what Ana is used to. It’s a one-bedroom in a complex close to set that’s filled with other members of the cast and crew who weren’t afforded the star treatment. I’m keenly aware of its size as Ana pokes around the kitchen, looking for a baking sheet.
She opens a cabinet and unearths a silicone brush. “I’m impressed by the number of kitchen tools in this place. Have you been cooking a lot?”
“Not once since we got here.” I lean against the smooth granite counter and watch her squat to pull out the drawer under the oven.
The movement makes her low-slung jeans pull tight across her hips and ass.
I should look away, but I can’t seem to find the will.
Ana may have trouble appreciating her body, but I don’t.
Soft curves leading to the cut of her waist, the dip of her shirt revealing her collarbone.
Wavy blonde hair falls behind her shoulders, and I’d like to brush it away to expose the spot just behind her ear. To kiss her there and watch her shiver.
“Got it!” Ana holds the sheet pan above her head, victorious.
“To be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d find one.” I have to work hard to pull my thoughts back to the pizza.
“Start slicing the mozzarella, and I’ll stretch the dough.
” She points a finger at me and then to the ball of cheese on the counter, and I can’t help but smile.
I told her the day we met that “blonde and demanding” wasn’t my type, but I’ll be damned if that hasn’t changed.
That she knows what she wants and is willing to ask for it—it’s working for me in a way I didn’t expect.
I circle the counter, heading toward a knife block on the other side, but there’s no way to squeeze by her without pressing either my ass or crotch to her body.
I consider my options and take a step toward her, placing one hand on the counter.
Cold from the stone surface seeps into my palm.
“Sorry, I’m just gonna squeeze past you,” I whisper, tipping my mouth to her ear before bringing my other arm to her other side, effectively caging her in from behind. “Not a lot of room here.”
It may be my imagination—or some unacknowledged hope—but I swear she leans back a touch, settling her back against my chest, relaxing into this posture that was meant to be momentary.
My heart rate spikes, and I forget myself. “I’ve never used fresh dough. Show me?” I completely abandon my purpose for stepping behind her and cling to a reason to stay here.
Her ass grazes the tops of my thighs as she turns her face to look up at me, and I hold my breath as she narrows her eyes. Sussing me out, like she still can’t decide if there’s something untrustworthy beneath my words. I nod toward the dough.
“It wants to retain its shape.” She leans forward, palming the sticky ball on the sheet in front of her.
“You stretch it, and it pulls back, resisting. It takes a lot of patience and persistence to get it where you want it. For it to expand. To where it’ll stay.
” Ana looks at me then, and the wariness from a moment before is gone.
Instead, there’s something seeking, something pressing in her eyes that makes me wonder if she’s not just talking about pizza crust. Like she might want to take a new shape too, if only someone would hold her when she wants to shrink back.
“Like this?” I place my hand over hers, and suddenly we’re cosplaying Ghost. It should feel awkward, but it doesn’t.
It feels good to be close to her. It feels right to have her in my space.
It feels natural to touch her, even when there are no cameras around to catch it.
Based on how her breathing’s picked up, I think the feeling’s mutual.
What this means in the grand scheme of our ruse—or outside of it—I’m not sure.
“Yes, just like that.” She nods before bringing her hand, and mine with it, back to the center of the tray.
“Do you want me to take over while you cut the cheese?” A giggle bursts out of her at my unintentional potty humor—my mouth moving faster than my brain again—and her body heaves against mine like this need to let go of herself was lingering just below the surface.
The bright, shrill pitch of her laugh catches like a hook in my chest, pulling my own laughter from somewhere deep in me with enough force to ruffle her hair.
She struggles to catch her breath. Temptation wins, and I bring my mouth to her throat, to that spot just behind her jaw, below her ear.
“You,” I whisper, before dotting a kiss there, “might be,” I press another, “the most intriguing person,” and another, “I’ve ever met.”
Ana pushes the tray away before turning in my arms to face me. I lift her to sit on the counter, her legs dangling between mine.
“Well, you,” she says, looping her arms behind my neck, “might be the only one special enough to see it.”
I close the remaining distance between us and bring my hips flush against hers.
Something is happening here. The air is thick with it—anticipation, curiosity, all the caution we both seem to be throwing to the wind.
I expect her to pull away, to remind me, or herself, that this isn’t something we’re supposed to do.
But she doesn’t. She wraps her legs around my waist, so I hover my mouth over hers, with just a breath of space between her lips and mine.
While I wait—to see if she’ll lean forward or if I’ll have the courage to close the gap myself—I pluck at my last thread of reason.
If we kiss, it’ll make our chemistry more believable in public.
If we kiss, maybe this desire that’s starting to boil in my chest will slow to a simmer.
Maybe it’ll be easier to control. The thread snaps. “Can I kiss you?” I ask.
Her “yes” comes out like a prayer as I settle my mouth on hers. There’s less pressure without the cameras. Or is there more pressure without the cameras?
I bring a hand to cradle her jaw and angle her face for a deeper kiss.
She parts my mouth with her tongue, and a groan echoes from my lungs as we settle into a rhythm—pushing and pulling, giving and taking, asking and responding.
As she rakes a hand through my hair, she keeps her mouth tight to mine, breaking only to run her lips over the length of my jaw, to bite softly on my earlobe before soothing it with a soft suck.
Then it’s tangled tongues, sighs, and the grip of her teeth on my bottom lip. Wandering fingertips and stroking skin, the front of my jeans growing tighter when she whimpers under my touch. It’s new and familiar, comfortable and maybe the scariest thing I’ve ever done, kissing her like this.
It’s not fake.
It’s easy.
After a minute, maybe ten, Ana pulls her lips from my neck with a quiet pop and leans back on her hands to catch my gaze. Her cheeks are pink, her hair is mussed, and she’s glowing. Absolutely, overwhelmingly beautiful.
“I promised I was going to feed you dinner,” I say, forcing my focus back to the kitchen. We glance at the half-prepped pizza dough behind her. She reaches to her left and plucks a knife from the block.
“Then start slicing the mozzarella, Levi. If you stay on my side of the kitchen, I can’t promise we’ll get to the food. The rest of this,” she circles her finger between us, “can wait.”
I steal one more quick kiss before asking, “And what is it we’re doing here? What is this?”
“Hmmm.” She bites her cheek. “I think we’re playing house.” She sets down the knife and brings her hands to mine. I nod. I see what she’s doing here. She knows as well as I do that we’re not playing, but sure, I can tag along with the lie.
A breath blows out of me as I peel myself from between her legs, my fingers lingering on her thighs until the last possible moment. I grab the cheese and unwrap it, never breaking eye contact with her as I do. “Then I’ll get to slicing.”
“You were right about the fresh mozzarella,” I say to Ana, who’s finishing a slice of pizza while sitting on the other end of the couch, her legs draped over mine.
She smiles and wags her brows. “I’m always right.”
I grip her foot in one hand and run my thumb along the sole, tickling until she pulls away with a shriek.
“You’re gonna pay for that.” She sets her plate on the coffee table and bends forward to sink a hand to the top of my thigh, just above my knee. She squeezes, and I try not to react, but the grin twitching at my lips begs to be set free.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Barlow.
” I steal her hand from my leg and wrap it in my palm.
She shifts closer to me and lays her head on my shoulder.
A wave of coconut from her hair mingles with the scent of freshly baked dough, and I know it’s a smell I’ll be nostalgic about for the rest of my life.
“Thank you for this,” she says with a contented sigh. Its effect is like a weighted blanket, calming my mind, which has been bouncing back and forth about whether we’re crossing a line we shouldn’t.
She curls her legs under her. “For today. Tonight. It’s not often that I get to do ‘normal’ stuff like this.
I’m starting to realize how rare it is that I can actually relax.
” She runs her thumb over my hand, an absentminded touch.
“Promise me you won’t get a big head, but it’s been nice to spend time with you.
To know I can trust you, that I don’t have to worry you’ll turn around and sell my secrets tomorrow. ”
“I won’t.” My words are decisive, firm. But the phrase “I can trust you” twists in my stomach. I tried to get her replaced. Colt’s words ping-pong around my head. Do I want to ruin this, her rare moment of peace, to ask her about it? Do I want to risk it getting back to Colt somehow?
My phone buzzes with an incoming call. It’s Edwin.
He must be outside to take Ana home.
“Hey, man,” I answer, bringing my right hand around Ana’s shoulder to trace along her arm as I keep her tucked to my side.
“Glad I got ahold of you. Have you seen the alert?” he asks.
“No?” I start racing through the possibilities.
“There’s a tornado watch, and it’s heading toward a warning. The agency has halted all activity for the night, so I can’t get there to take Ana home. Check the weather—y’all should think about staying put until it blows through.”
That is not at all what I expected out of this call. “OK. Hmmm. Yeah, OK.” I give myself a few moments to think. “We’ll hang here. I’ll touch base with you in the morning.”
He ends the call, and I let the phone drop to my lap. Tornado warnings aren’t new to me; Ohio gets them too. We have basements in Ohio, though.
“So, change of plans,” I say, turning to her. “You’re staying here tonight.”