Chapter 11
ELEVEN
“If I weren’t married…”
Paula’s voice trails off, and I blink a few times, hoping my lack of response encourages her to keep the rest of the sentiment to herself.
I really don’t want to hear how attractive she finds the man who kissed me the night before.
Truthfully, I don’t want to be here at all anymore, having had to sit uncomfortably in his presence.
She glances at me with a knowing grin, and I offer a smile that feels more like a grimace.
Thankfully, he’s out of earshot, talking to the guy he’d apparently hired that day, Robert. I try not to stare at him, try not to watch as he gives directions to the man beside him, who stares at him intently.
Quintin is wearing black pants, stained no doubt from his culinary adventures, and a beanie covers the brown tendrils I wish I could see. He glances back at us, catching me staring. I adjust in my seat so I’m no longer facing him, feeling my face get warm.
“So, we’re all set, yes?” Paula asks, reapplying her lip gloss before pulling her phone out and tapping at the screen. “I’ve got a meeting downtown to get to.”
We’ve gone over the menu, tasted enough food to feed a family, and she flirted with Quintin until he finally found some reason to step away.
“I think so…” I start, not knowing if there’s anything else he needs to discuss but figuring he could fill me in if so. But before I can tell her that, she’s already up and pulling on her coat.
“Excellent work,” she tells me, not looking my way as she gathers her designer purse, settling it in the crook of her arm. “I’ll be in touch.”
In true Latina fashion, she leans in to press her cheek to mine with a kiss. Now, almost everyone here has kissed me in the last twenty-four hours.
As she marches away, her heels assaulting the tile floor that reminds me of some sort of Tuscan summer home, I feel fatigue creeping up on me. I lean back in the chair and sigh, wishing I had eaten more. The scents coming from the kitchen are far too enticing.
Unfortunately, professionalism kept me from having more than a few bites of the options she needed help deciding between.
“Hungry?” Quintin asks from behind me, as if he can read my mind, and I jump at the soft timbre of his voice.
“Uh, I’m okay,” I lie, not wanting to spend any more time with him than I have to. That temptation is getting far too difficult to fight. Better to starve the desire entirely. Or myself, apparently.
I offer him a small smile as I stand, picking up my coat. Before I can slip away, he places his hand on my forearm and takes my coat. Wordlessly, he circles his index finger, and I turn, obliging his silent request.
With my arms sliding into my sleeves, it’d be so easy to lean my head back into his chest. When he reaches for my hair to pull it out from under my coat, I shiver.
These little moments of intimacy are what kill me.
This fucking man…is so unintentionally attractive. It’s in the moments he doesn’t try, in the little things I notice about him, that set my fucking panties on fire.
It makes me want to run.
Instead, I thank him with a smile, my eyes not reaching his, and walk away.
The sound of a knock at my door has me sitting up from where I was lying on my sofa, fast asleep.
I push my hair out of my face and look around, disoriented. One minute, I’m sitting in my living room, trying to figure out what to eat. The next, I’m having another vivid dream, this time about vampires using their teeth to open juice boxes.
I don’t know.
These hormones are potent as fuck.
There’s shuffling on the other side of the door, so I stand. My brain still hazy with sleep, I make my way to it and yank it open.
Quintin jerks up, the items he was setting down now sitting between us.
“Hi,” he offers, rubbing his free hand on the back of his neck, and there’s this adorable-ass side of him I’m finding hard to resist. It’s the one who isn’t so sure, who doesn’t know how I’ll react to him, who finds himself red-faced on the threshold of my door.
“Hi,” I whisper back, pressing into the doorframe as I observe him through sleepy eyes, loving what I see.
He’s still wearing the black pants from earlier, and I love seeing the ingredients of the day adorning him.
The beanie covering his hair has slipped a little, revealing his hairline, the brown strands pulled taut, shining under the hallway lighting.
His puffer jacket is open, displaying his black T-shirt underneath.
I devour every detail, my eyes greedy with the desire to commit him to memory, for the late nights alone in my bed when I can’t help but let desire consume me.
I’m not supposed to lust after my neighbor like this.
But he isn’t supposed to be here either, not when I’ve unwittingly done so much to drive him away. A lesser man would’ve left me alone already.
Hell, I’ve given men a lot more, and they gave me even less than Quintin has.
After a moment, he answers the unasked question.
Why are you here?
“I brought you food and—” I notice the white rose in his hand, sitting perfectly in a small plastic container, and he pauses, glancing down at it. He offers a grin that only perks up one side of his face and a shrug. “I made this. As a friendly gesture.”
“You made it?” I ask, peering at the white rose he holds up. I bring my hand up to rest my fingers on my lips, waiting for him to respond.
He licks his own lips before he answers. “Well, I’ve been taking some baking and cake decorating classes from my dessert chef in my free time, and…”
“And?”
I want to touch him. I want to be touched by him.
You need to calm down before you end up humping his leg like a fucking chihuahua.
He exhales before answering. “And I thought that maybe you’re having such a hard time with me because…maybe it’s been a long time since someone’s been good to you. I don’t mind if you’re more comfortable being friends. I don’t want to make things weird, and I get that you don’t even know me.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
I reach out, taking the rose from his grasp before reaching down for the food, setting the items gingerly on the side table inside. If this is an attempt at kindness, I want to treat it as gently as I can, even if all I want to do is jump in his arms.
When I return to the doorway to face him, I tilt my head as I look at him, my eyes unflinching.
The wideness of his eyes as I approach, the way he leans toward me until we’re closer than I thought we’d ever be again…it excites me.
Even if there was a small part of me hoping we’d be here again.
“Is this okay?” His question is a whisper, and if I hadn’t been staring so intently, I might’ve missed the little quirk of his brows. His uncertainty is my undoing. Before I can think better of it, I step fully into him, encapsulating him in my sleepy warmth.
It’s an invitation unlike any I’ve given him, one I hope he accepts.
He leans in ever so slowly, and his eyes are pure honey as they bore into mine.
His lips are so close, I can almost feel them against mine when he pauses, his breath brushing over me as he speaks.
“Are you sure, Daniela?” He brings his hands to run his fingers along the sides of my face before stopping when his palms meet my jaw. He cradles my face with a tenderness that contradicts the fire in his gaze.
When I nod, he brushes over my parted lips with one of his thumbs. His eyes track his movement as he speaks again, a deep timbre I’ve never heard before.
“I can’t hear you.” A quiet and implied command I nearly whimper at.
“Kiss me,” I whisper, obliging. “Please.” Anything to feel his desire for me again.
“There you are,” he responds, finally staring into my eyes again. “That’s a good girl.”
My panties must be soaked.
We stumble back into my apartment just as our lips meet, a collision of epic proportions. Last night, the briefest contact was a static shock.
This kiss is raw electricity. It’s a lightning bolt of energy surging through our bodies. I am so utterly fluid in his touch, and somehow, we end up on my couch, kissing like we’re lovers rather than acquaintances, like we’ve done this so many times before, except…
“Stop holding back,” I breathe, wanting his hands all over me rather than safely on my face.
“Don’t tell me that,” he warns me, running his palm from my cheeks down to my neck, where he applies slight pressure, pushing me to lie back on the couch.
He yanks off his coat, tossing it on the ground before reaching for me again.
Those skilled fingers slip under my sweater, feathering along my skin until they meet the bottom of my bra.
My sensitive breasts ache with a heaviness, knowing he’s so close to them.
I arch my back to tell him exactly what it is I want, and he obliges, pushing the lace cups away to free them under my sweater.
The moment his fingertips run over the hardened peaks before cupping my breasts, I’m shivering with ecstasy.
Holy shit, I will come from this alone .
The deep roll in the pit of my stomach makes me bite my lip to keep from letting out the moan building inside me.
I take a deep breath and scoot back, not wanting to embarrass myself.
Because what kind of person orgasms just from nipple stimulation? I would fucking die if I did. And then have to see him all the time? No fucking thank you.
“I’m sorry?—”
“No, no. It’s okay,” he reassures me, sitting up. I notice his palm resting in his lap, covering what has to be an erection.
If you weren’t such a fucking chicken, you’d ask him to move his hand and really have a good time.
Instead, the awkwardness of the moment paired with how strange my boobs feel out of the confines of my bra has me sobering quicker than I’d like.
Rather than sit in this moment with him, I excuse myself to the bathroom.
The moment I shut the door behind me, I move to stare at my flushed reflection.
My pinkened lips tingle from his against mine.
I already notice the effect his beard had on my chin, loving the way the soft bristles brushed my skin.