Chapter 17
I wish I could say that I have a plan as I make my way out of my room, but I’ve never been good at chess or other strategy-type games that require thinking multiple steps ahead, so I’m just going to wing it and hope that I stumble into a checkmate.
The king I’m trying to capture being Levi, obviously, and a confession that I’m not the only one feeling this attraction between us.
Intuition, don’t fail me now.
I make my way down the hall, pausing at the closed laundry room door.
Tiny little meows sound from the other side of the pressed particle board, and I crack the door open and peek my head inside.
No Levi. I close the door with a quiet snick and pad the rest of the way into the living room on socked feet.
Levi’s not here either, but my gaze zeroes in on the bookcases lining the far wall.
My heart makes a sudden shove against my ribs.
Why hadn’t I thought of this before? Of course Levi would have a copy of Of Roses and Lilies.
Even if he’d had a specific quote memorized, he’d have had to look up the passage to see what page and line it was on to mark it in the postscript of his letter.
I hurry to one end of the bookcase and start scanning every title written along every spine. I’m halfway through the second bookcase when a throat clears behind me.
“Needing a good book to borrow?”
I tug on the last book I’ve looked at and pull it out an inch to mark my place before pivoting on my heel. “I might be in the market. Do you have any recommendations?”
One corner of his lips hitches up a fraction. “What are you in the mood for?”
I tilt my chin up so I can meet his gaze. “Hmm. Let me think.” I tap my lips dramatically as if deep in thought. “Know any good YA fantasy titles?”
His golden eyes flash, the only outward show of any inward reaction. “I might.”
“I hear Of Roses and Lilies is good. Have you read it?” My tone is saucy and flirtatious. I don’t want him to have to guess about my interest like he’s making me do.
“I might have.” His half smile ticks up another fraction of an inch.
“Any particular parts that are your favorite?”
He pauses as if considering my question carefully. “Yes, actually.”
“Care to share?”
He shakes his head as he presses his lips into a thin line.
I want to pump my fist in victory because, if I’m not mistaken, he’s actively trying to hide an honest-to-goodness smile.
“I wouldn’t want to spoil anything for you.”
“I love spoilers,” I press. “I’m one of those weirdos who reads reviews and searches for the spoiler warnings.”
“Next you’ll tell me you skip to the last chapter and read it first.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He stares at me with an unreadable expression until I break and laugh.
“Fine. I promise not to jump to the end. Just to page 286. Can I have the book now?” I hold out my hand.
“You asked if I’ve read the book, not if I own the book.”
I huff an exaggerated sigh but don’t bother suppressing my grin. “Levi, do you own a copy of Of Roses and Lilies, and if you do, may I borrow it, please?”
He shrugs and indicates the shelves behind me, an invitation to look for myself.
Hold up. Are we or are we not having a tête-à-tête right now? Was that whole exchange not playful banter but his usual reticence to say more than a few words at a time?
A deep, low chuckle rumbles in his chest, and I feel the vibration travel down each of my vertebra, locking my spine into place.
The arms he had folded over his chest fall to his sides. “While you’re looking, I’ll start on dinner. How do burgers sound?”
I’m still pulsating with the percussion of his laughter to care much about food. “Burgers are fine,” I say as a reflex.
Levi nods and walks away. I watch his retreating back.
My rigid spine slumps. That had not gone at all how I was expecting. What happened to being a mature, emotionally healthy woman and putting all my feeling cards on the table? Show your cards, Hayley.
I will. I will!
After I find Of Roses and Lilies and read the passage he left as a clue.
There’s a chance the line could be romantic in nature, like Evangeline said. Although there’s an equal chance it could be directions to an actual hidden treasure, since his inspiration was taken from a childhood love of Treasure Island.
Either way, maybe finding out what is written there will help me decipher Levi as well.
I’m not necessarily worried about putting myself out there and confessing that I’m developing feelings for him only for him to let me down gently.
I’ll be disappointed, and yeah, the rejection won’t feel good, but I’ll get over it.
The real tragedy would be for both of us to be harboring this desire for each other and neither of us being willing to open up to the other.
Maybe it’s knowing that my time in this world could run out at any moment, but I don’t want to waste a single second entertaining undue fear when I could be filling my days experiencing love and laughter.
None of the books on the shelves I can reach is the one I’m looking for.
I take a step back and look up. There are still two rows of books that are above my head.
Of course Levi wouldn’t make this easy on me.
For anyone but a giant, those books aren’t accessible without a ladder, and because this isn’t a fairy tale but a home collection, there isn’t a built-in rolling ladder in sight.
There are, however, two wooden boxes near the fireplace with a few logs in one and remnants of old newspapers for kindling in the other.
I empty the boxes and carry them over to the bookcases, stacking them on top of each other.
Carefully, I climb on top of my makeshift stool and run my finger along the spines of the books on the top shelves.
“Do you like cheese on your—”
Levi’s voice startles me, and I jolt with a squeak.
My quick movements send the precarious tower beneath me rocking like shifting tectonic plates.
I wobble to stay upright, wishing for the first time in my life that I’d taken ballet classes for longer than two weeks, then maybe the probability of me not face-planting right onto Levi’s hardwood floors would be higher right now.
Levi’s grunt-curse rips through the room, and I feel myself tipping right before his large hands circle my waist and steady me.
“I got you.” His warm breath fans across my cheek, sending the baby-fine hairs that have slipped the elastic band of my ponytail to dance in my peripheral vision.
I grip his shoulders, the adrenaline spike of almost falling emptying from my system as quickly as it had flooded my veins.
Levi’s fingers flex above my hips, instantly grounding me and drawing my attention to him.
The room is silent except for the pounding of my heart against my breastbone and the whooshing of my quick breaths in my ears.
We’re nearly eye-to-eye with me perched on the boxes like I am.
Except he’s not looking into my eyes. His gaze is transfixed a couple of inches lower, all his focus narrowed onto my now-parted lips, his long eyelashes curved over the apple of his cheeks.
There’s the faint white line of a scar that disappears beneath the coarse stubble of his beard, and I wonder what other details about Levi I’ve missed.
His fingers flex again, the tiniest amount, but enough that my system is flooded once more.
This time it’s with awareness and not adrenaline, and it’s another type of falling altogether that I’m in danger of.
The way he’s looking at my mouth, with raw longing and unbridled desire, erases any question from my mind that I’m alone in feeling the pull between us.
I lick my lips, his gaze so heavy I can feel it like a physical touch. Tension coils through my body, my muscles tightening around my bones like boa constrictors, my heart thump, thump, thumping. Every part of me is poised. Ready. Waiting for Levi to lean forward and press his lips against mine.
He doesn’t move. Not even a flinch. If not for the fire in his eyes and the ragged sound of his shallow inhales, he could have been made of granite.
My thumbs press into the slope of skin at the base of his neck. “Levi.” His name comes out so breathy that I wouldn’t have even recognized I said it if I hadn’t felt my vocal cords form the word.
Levi hums but otherwise remains unmoved. What is he thinking right now? Or maybe his thoughts have been completely hijacked by the overwhelming need to feel like mine have.
But if that’s the case, why isn’t he kissing me at this very moment? Because the thought of his lips on mine, the wonder of if his beard will scratch the sensitive flesh of my lips and if I’ll like it, is the only thing I can think about.
“Levi,” I try again. If he doesn’t kiss me soon, I might combust on the spot. “Levi, do you want to kiss me?”
His gaze tears from my mouth and tackles mine, pinning me to the spot.
“Because,” I push out, “I would really like for you to kiss me.”
His grip on my waist tightens almost painfully.
If he were to remove his hands, there would probably be red marks where his fingers had been.
A thrill shoots through me. I shouldn’t love how almost punishing his hands on me are, but I do.
I’ve been treated with kid gloves like I was fragile and breakable more than half my life.
But Levi isn’t holding me like he’s afraid I might break.
He’s holding me like he would fight anyone to the death if they tried to drag me away from him.
“How?” His gravelly voice is clipped as he forces the single word past his lips.
It’s hard to make room for any other thoughts in my head, but I manage to accommodate one single question in answer to his. “What do you mean, how?”
He emits the low grunt that sounds like it could be a four-letter word as he closes his eyes and leans forward.
He rests his forehead against mine and takes in a long breath.
“This is probably the worst time in the world to be confessing this, but I’ve never kissed a woman before.
” He leans back, and his eyes pop open again, searching mine, a determined set to his jaw.
“But even if I had, I’ve never kissed you.
So, I’m asking how. How do you like to be kissed, Hayley?
Because, yes, I very much would like to kiss you right now, but only if I can do it right.
Only if I can touch you in a way that feels good for you. ”
My brain, my heart, my breath all stutter at Levi’s words. How has a man with as much raw masculinity as him never been kissed before? How have I, who have kissed plenty of men, never once been asked about my own preference or even realized the impact such a question would have on me?
Everything clicks into place, and I know. I know.
My hands move from his shoulders, and I thread my fingers into his hair, tugging at the ends. “I’ve never been kissed by you, so why don’t we find out together, hmm?”
He searches my gaze for a half second more before his arms band around me and he crushes me to his chest. But while his hold is tight and firm, his lips find mine in a featherlight kiss, tentative and unsure.
He pulls back slightly, his brows thunderclouds of warning on his face.
His arms tighten even further before his head surges forward and he captures my lips with a confident seal of his own.
His mouth is a soft island surrounded by the coarse scruff of his facial hair. The opposing textures and the assertive pressure of his lips elicits an unconscious moan in the back of my throat. “If you’re taking notes,” I say between kisses, “I like this.”
He chuckles. “Duly noted.”
He kisses me softly, reverently, hungrily, frantically. He kisses me a million different ways, and I let him know that I like every one.
Beep, beep, beep, beep.
Levi yanks himself away at the sound of the smoke detector, leaving me blinking, lips swollen, and chin slightly burning from the friction of his beard. He lifts me off the towering boxes like I weigh nothing at all and sets me back down on my feet.
“I forgot about the burgers,” he says sheepishly, his chin dipping down toward his chest.
Which I, of course, find utterly adorable.
He walks to the kitchen, and a few seconds later I hear the stove click off even though the smoke detector is still blaring.
“Well, these are inedible now.”
I rouse myself enough to follow him and find him scraping charred and blackened beef patties into the trash can.
I grab a dish towel and search the ceiling for the source of the obnoxious beeping.
The detector is mounted in the center of the kitchen, so I move to stand under it and use the dish towel as a fan.
It takes a good while, but the beeping finally stops.
“How does cereal sound?” Levi’s still wearing that sheepish expression as he fills the skillet with water to soak in the sink.
I grin. “I love cereal for dinner. And maybe while we eat, we can talk?”
He opens his mouth to respond but is cut off by the doorbell. His mouth closes, and his brow furrows. “Who can that be?” He moves around me toward the front door.
I guess talking—and any more kissing—will have to wait.