Chapter 8 #2
In fact, I’m not even sure how he got this much out of me. I need to be careful around this one. Usually my lips are sealed so tightly you’d have to pry them open with a crowbar, but Jason has a way of disarming me.
“Ah, so you’re expecting a second date,” Jason says.
“You invited me to your sister and brother-in-law’s shower. It’s already in the bag, baby.” I jump off the stepladder and point at my work. “Ta-da. All done.”
Jason surveys my side of the room. “Passable.”
I grab a rag off the stepladder and fling it at his chest. “That’s better than passable.”
“And just for that, you’re going to use sandpaper.”
“As opposed to what?”
He digs in a tool kit and lifts out a sander. “As opposed to this. Makes sanding a breeze.”
“That’s for people who can’t handle a little hard labor.”
“She says to the person who does hard labor for a living.”
“That’s debatable. I hear you mostly push pencils these days.”
“Does this look like I push pencils all day?” he asks, lifting his T-shirt a fraction so I can get a peek at his stomach.
It’s a phenomenal stomach. With enough squares that I could play checkers on it. Da-yum. Still, I burst out laughing. And the more I think about it, the harder I laugh, until I’m weeping in amusement.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, his eyebrows snapping together.
“You. You’re what’s funny. Were you waiting for the perfect opening to show me your abs? Who does that?”
“Apparently I do,” he mutters.
I lift my shirt a fraction, mimicking what he just did. “ ‘Does this look like I push pencils all day?’ Seriously, Jason? You’re adorable.”
Jason strides across the room before I can even catch my breath. “Make fun of me all you want. I can take it.”
I snap my mouth shut, cutting off my laughter, then open it when I regain my composure. “Because you’re a glutton for punishment?”
He pins me with an intense gaze, crowding me, enveloping us in a bubble that’s poised to pop.
He’s close. Too close. “Because I’m a glutton for whatever you’re willing to dish out.
And yeah, I’m not the smoothest guy in the world, but I like you, Vanessa.
A lot. And I don’t give a shit if I look silly proving that to you. ”
Oh. I don’t know what to say to that, so I swallow, drawing his gaze to my throat. Then he licks his lips as he stares at mine, and my heart gallops in my chest. I knew this was coming. Eventually. It’s a part of the ruse. So why am I seconds away from swaying on my feet?
“May I kiss you?” he asks.
“I’d like that,” I say, an unrecognizable shyness in my voice.
Get yourself together, Vanessa. Treat this as a clinical exercise. You’re fulfilling the terms of the assignment, and this is not the time to go mushy.
Jason doesn’t place his lips on mine like I expect him to. Instead, he pulls me flush against him, then slides his nose along my jaw, humming when he feels my skin.
“So soft,” he murmurs. “Just as I imagined.”
“You imagined this?”
“Many, many times.”
I breathe him in and literally swoon. Good God, he smells like a heady combination of barrel-aged cognac and evergreens after a light rain. As if Paul Bunyan decided to quit his job as a lumberjack and opened a distillery instead.
Jason presses his mouth against my jaw, then inches his lips closer and closer to mine. “I’m trying to prolong this,” he whispers against my cheek. “Because I know the moment I touch those gorgeous lips, I’m going to taste heaven. The anticipation is killing me.”
It’s killing me, too, honestly. And he thinks he isn’t smooth? Wow, he couldn’t be more wrong. Because everything he’s doing right now is working for me on multiple levels.
Finally, finally, he places his lips on mine and slides his tongue inside my mouth as he runs a hand over the back of my neck.
Oh. Oh, this…Oh, this is scrambling my brain.
Every aspect of this kiss strikes the perfect balance between precise and frenzied.
Sloppy with lust isn’t his style, but he’s ravenous—the way he breathes into me, the way he draws me tightly against him, the way he peppers me with tiny bites in between the tangling of our tongues.
He’s fully immersed in this kiss, which leaves me fully immersed in him.
His scent, his five-o’clock shadow grazing my skin, his strong fingers clutching my waist.
This is Jason’s version of foreplay, and oh my God, judging by the way my nipples are hardening to uncomfortably rigid peaks under my thin top, it’s working.
I squeeze my eyes shut so I can concentrate and mentally confirm that what I’m doing with him is okay.
That I’m not crossing any preestablished boundaries.
The rules of this scheme are simple: no fooling around and absolutely no sex.
Kisses are fine, though. And that’s all we’d be able to do in our current environment anyway.
Nevertheless, this kiss feels like a road map for what he’d do to me in the privacy of a bedroom: It’s the tongue-twirling equivalent of frantic and sweaty sex with an earth-shattering orgasm as its finale. Lisa would not approve.
With a hand against his chest, I step back and gently push him away.
“Too much?” he asks, his eyes dark and hooded.
“Too good,” I whisper honestly. “We need to slow this down.”
He wraps one of my curls around his index finger. “I’m willing to slow this down to a snail’s pace if it means we get to do that again. Whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks for being patient with me.”
“I’m not being patient. That makes it seem like there’s a right and a wrong speed. I’m slowing down because that’s what you need. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Well, thanks for being you, then.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, reaching over and using his thumb to caress my top lip.
“Time to sand the walls?” I ask, dropping my chin to escape his touch.
“Sure.” Then he clears his throat. “Why don’t we grab a drink in the kitchen first?”
“Okay.”
But nothing’s truly okay. Because that kiss ranks among the best I’ve ever experienced. I’ll be thinking about it tonight, tomorrow, and next week. Shit, this is not good. Not good at all.