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When they got to the kitchen, where the only light on was the little one in the stove hood, she went over and switched on the milk-glass lamp at the window.
“Can I ask why there’s a huge Black guy sleeping in your living room?” Duncan asked, his voice low. “Are you not single?”
On the drive down, Phoebe had talked with unexpected detail about a lot of things, but she hadn’t described her living arrangements. At the time, she hadn’t expected him to hang around longer than required to unhitch his truck.
“Remember I told you I became good friends with one of the other people in the transition house? That’s him. Vin. We’re buds and roomies, and he helps me with the rescue stuff. My best friend from childhood, Margot, lives here, too, but she’s away for the weekend. She’s the only one with a regular job.”
Duncan’s grin now was a little snarky—almost enough to be offensive. “So you’ve got yourself a mini-commune? A little polycule?”
The way he hit that word was definitely offensive, and Phoebe wasn’t even polyamorous—and didn’t think she knew anyone who was.
“No, I’ve got myself some good friends and a way we can all have an okay life and get at least most of the bills paid. And we’re there for each other when we need somebody. I guess being a Brazen Bull means you don’t have to worry about whether you’ll have food or heat or even somebody to help when there’s trouble, but I’ve had to worry about all that plenty in my life. You know what? I just realized how fucking late it is. You should go.”
His eyes popped wide. “Hey, hold up. I didn’t mean anything by that. I was trying to make a joke, but obviously I shot wide. I’m sorry. Really.”
Phoebe crossed her arms and stared at him, considering. She was irritated and ready to shove him back out the door, but she couldn’t say she’d be thrilled about it. That kindling feeling warmed the floor of her belly and made her tingly in a way she barely remembered.
He was good looking. Not like a model, all pretty and posed, but like a regular guy, living a real life. His body seemed good under his heavy coat, and she’d seen for herself how strong he was. His hair and beard were dark—that beard was maybe a bit more carefully shaved than she preferred, but it wasn’t some mangy wannabe beard. Thick, slashing brows. And under those, the brightest, keenest green eyes she’d ever seen.
Yeah, he attracted.
He took a step toward her. “Phoebe, seriously. It was a shitty attempt to be funny. I got no right to judge anything about your life, and I wasn’t trying to do that. I’m sorry.” Another step. “I’ll go if that’s what you want, but it’s not what I want.”
His expression was warm and sincere, and she believed him. But she didn’t want to make things too easy for him. She sucked her teeth and asked, “Why not? You a big fan of leftover pecan pie?”
A grin found its way back to his face as he took yet another step closer. “Yeah, I really like pie. I’d like to spend more time with pie and get to know pie better.”
He was close enough now that she had to tip her head back to keep her attention on his eyes. But he hadn’t touched her. Without moving, she replied, “Maybe I should get that pie out of the fridge and leave you two alone.”
She’d meant to sound sassy, but her speeding heart choked out her voice, and the whole sentence came out like a breath.
Duncan’s hands came out and enclosed her upper arms. “If you don’t want me to kiss you right now, you should say or do something to let me know.”
Phoebe stared into those keen green eyes and said nothing. She uncrossed her arms and clutched the sleeves of his coat.
Still grinning, he leaned down and stopped about three inches from her mouth. “Just to be clear, if grabbing me was supposed to be a sign that I should go, I’m gonna need some more detail.”
“Shut the fuck up and kiss me,” Phoebe answered, pulling on his sleeves.
He came down the rest of the way and kissed her. But he didn’t push his tongue into her mouth right away—in fact, he didn’t even open his mouth at first. His first kiss was light, his lips brushing back and forth over hers. Then he lifted away a bit and held there. Phoebe opened her eyes and found that his were still closed. She rose onto her toes and pressed her lips to his.
Then he opened his mouth, but still each kiss was small and restrained. His lips explored hers, sucking and sweeping, but went no farther.
On her few hookups with guys she’d matched with on apps, there’d been no seduction and very little foreplay. They’d got busy right away, and the first kiss, if there was kissing at all, was wide open and plunging.
Duncan was seducing her.
That small fire in her belly caught fully, and she moaned.
With a grunting reply, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her tightly against his body. Phoebe let go of his sleeves and slipped her hands up his arms, over broad, beefy shoulders, and pushed her fingers into his short hair. Silky and thick.
Finally his tongue slipped over her lips, into her mouth, but still his kisses were no aggressive siege. He wasn’t taking her over; he wanted her to come along. She kissed him back the same way, mapping the terrain of his mouth with her tongue, tasting his lips, brushing her smooth face over his beard.
And damn, the man smelled great. Leather and wool and bar soap, and that certain, wonderful scent of man-skin. And just beneath it all was maybe a hint of ... lavender?
He pulled back first. This time, when Phoebe opened her eyes, green eyes flashed heat at her.
“Yeah, I really like pie,” he said, his voice low and soft and sultry.
