Chapter Fifteen #2
He huffed out a chuckle, his shoulders finally relaxing a bit. “I guess that’s better than smelling like old socks.”
“Much.” She shrugged. “Anyway, you’ve seen my place.”
“Not since you moved in,” he reminded her.
“It hasn’t changed much, other than the fact that it isn’t full of cardboard boxes anymore.”
“Never got around to picking out new curtains?”
Laughing, she shook her head. “It hasn’t felt like a priority, and I don’t know. I’m not even sure what I really want.”
“Yeah, I get that.” He glanced around again. “Clearly I’m not a big decision-maker when it comes to interior design, either.”
“Minimalism is a decision.”
“Is it?”
She nodded. “In its own way.” Then she tipped her head toward the window. “Doesn’t the light ever bother you, though?”
“The shades do an okay job.”
Frowning, he put his hands in his pockets and took a few steps toward the hall.
She followed him, past the plain, white bathroom with the clear, vinyl shower curtain and the bare spare room that he honestly wasn’t even sure why he had.
At his bedroom door, he lifted his shoulders and put them back down.
It was the same as it was with the rest of the place, minimal to the point of sterile, save the quilt his mom had made during a brief but intense phase when she had gotten really into sewing.
She’d always wanted to point out all the flaws in the stitching, but he couldn’t have cared less.
She’d made it for him, and she’d made it blue, because that was his favorite when he was twelve, and it was the most important thing he owned.
But he wasn’t here to show Emma that. He gestured at the clunky white shades that covered the windows. “Now these…”
“Oh, jeez.” She bit her lip in concentration. “Are those east-facing?”
“More or less.”
“Yeah…” With a fond half smile, she blew out a breath of disbelief. “I don’t know if I could deal with that.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Guess I have to go curtain shopping, too.”
Not that he cared about a little morning sun. But she did, and that mattered. He envisioned her waking up here in the morning, gorgeous and naked and thoroughly rumpled, her lips swollen from his kisses and her hair a glorious mess.
And there was that flare of heat in his blood again. Static crackled through the air as their gazes met, awareness rushing through him—like he could feel every inch of space that separated his body from hers.
Leaning against the doorway, she looked up at him from under her lashes. She licked her lips, and he suddenly remembered that he didn’t have to keep pushing away his desire to pull her into his arms.
He took one step toward her, asking permission with his eyes. Nodding, she leaned forward.
And it was just like it had been the first time they’d kissed—meeting in the middle with this tentativeness that slowly but surely melted away.
The sweetness of her mouth warmed every inch of him, and he put one hand on her waist, gently brushing her hair back from her face with the other.
Heat suffused him, blanking his mind to everything but the feel of her body against his.
He licked past the seam of her lips, and his fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt. He wanted to push it higher and touch her soft skin—hell, he wanted to tear it off.
But that wasn’t what he’d asked her here for.
Exhaling hard, he forced himself to release her. She wasn’t entirely having it, though, her hands on his shoulders tugging at him to stay close and extend the kiss. But eventually, she let him pull away with a pout that shifted into a smile.
“Hi,” she breathed, sliding her palms down his arms until they were basically holding hands.
He chuckled, delighted in a way that surprised him. “Hi yourself.”
They stood there for a moment, just staring at each other.
“I should, uh.” He cleared his throat. “Probably go check on the steaks.”
“Uh-huh.”
But she didn’t move away, and he didn’t either, and fuck it.
He hauled her back in and crashed his mouth into hers again. He hadn’t even known this woman for that long, but it felt like he’d been holding back for all that time. Now that the dam had broken, how was he supposed to keep his head on straight?
She moaned into the kiss, taking the initiative to press him back into the opposite side of the doorframe this time, and he liked that—maybe too much. He snuck a hand under her shirt, and his blood flared hot, his entire body responding to the softness of her skin and the warm welcome of her mouth.
He got lost in her for long minutes, but with every kiss, he just wanted more. Her enthusiasm bowled him over, too—her little noises and the press of her hands. The soft swells of her breasts against his chest.
And maybe dinner was overrated.
But before he could get completely carried away, she drew back. She was breathing heavily, clearly as affected by the electricity zipping between them as he was, her lips red and her eyes dark with wanting.
“Steaks?” she panted.
He would be so mad if he ruined the stupid things.
And besides. The attraction between them felt urgent, but he could deal with attraction. It was the emotional connection between them that had softened his defenses.
He breathed out hard, tugging the hem of his shirt down to hide exactly how much he wanted to ignore dinner altogether and keep going. But he nodded. “Steaks.”