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My fingers curl over his hard biceps. “Consider me wooed.”
He utters a shaky laugh. “I meant dates. Taking things slow.”
Given that my sex is wet and throbbing, the thought of “slow” sounds like torture. “Why?”
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, and the rough edge of his thumb caresses my swollen bottom lip. “Call it selfish, but I want the experience of dating, that anticipation of working up to sex while getting to know you better. Because you are too important to turn into something as simple as casual sex. I don’t want to lose you to that.”
My heartbeat is in my throat, my chest a hollow ache. He looks at me as if he sees it all. As if he knows exactly how it feels to be alone when surrounded by people. I guess he knows that better than I do. His voice is like warm honey in the dark. “It’s always been people wanting you to please them. Let me give you something more. Something true.”
“John …” I don’t know who moves first. Maybe we both do.
He wraps me in his arms, his hand holding my head to his chest where his heart beats strong. “I don’t know where this will go, or if I’ll be any good at it, but I want to be on this road with you.”
I let out a soft laugh. “Oh, you’ll be good at it. You already are.”
We stand there in silence, holding onto each other. My hands find their way under his shirt to his warm skin, and he trembles. Smiling, I press further against him. “Okay, but no sex at all?” I tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “My brain can accept that this is a good idea, but my vag is a little hussy. She’s gonna be pouting if she’s ignored.”
John bursts out laughing, his chest brushing mine. “God, I like you.”
The awe in his voice has me nudging his side. “You don’t have to sound so surprised by this.”
“But I am,” he says with candor. He rests his chin lightly on my head. “The last girl I truly liked was Pippa Hicks in sixth year. Sweet girl. She let me look up her skirt.”
I snort. “Typical.”
Laughter laces his voice. “She also gave me the answers for our maths primer.”
My smile presses into the wall of his chest as I hide my flaming cheeks. “Oh, well, that’s a different story entirely.” His skin is smooth and warm beneath my fingertips. “I like you too.”
“Good.” He peers down at me and a grin spreads over his mouth. “Don’t you worry. I’ll pay proper attention to your sweet little kitty.” With a yelp, he backs away, evading my pinches and laughing. “She may not get the full-service meal at first, but I’ll keep her content.”
I pinch him again, and he keeps laughing, wrapping me up so my arms are trapped between us. His laughter dies down. “And we kiss.” His gaze lowers to my mouth, all hot and covetous. “A lot.”
“A lot,” I reply in a daze.
His expression is dazed as well. “Kissing you has become my favorite thing.”
My lips are still swollen and sensitive. I am completely down with this plan, but I don’t think it will go the way he intends. “You ever just make out with a girl before, John? Fool around with no sex?”
A small wrinkle forms between his brows. “No. Why?”
I grin, my clenched hands opening and pressing into the firm wall of his chest. “I’m thinking you’re about to be more tempted than you realize.”
John’s eyes light with amusement. “I’m not going to cave, Button.”
“We’ll see.”
Chapter Eighteen
John
* * *
I wake up with the lyrics to “Suddenly Stella” tripping around in my brain. Like most of my best work, the song isn’t planned, it simply pops up and takes residence in my mind. I write down several verses while I drink my morning tea, then I’m headed out to meet my muse.
She greets me with a smile, her hair glowing like a sunset around her pretty face. “Have you had breakfast?”
“Just a cup of tea.”
She hooks her arm through mine. “Come on then, Englishman in New York.”
“Where are we going?” Today, Stella is showing me a bit of her world. I admit, I’m curious as hell. Sure, we seem to bump into each other at an alarming rate, but I don’t know everything she does. I don’t know how she views life. I’ve only ever looked at the world through my own eyes. Never cared to do more … until Stella.
“Everywhere,” she says.
It quickly becomes apparent that Stella doesn’t simply live in Manhattan, she’s a part of it. I’ve lived on this island on and off my whole life, but I’ve never inhabited it the way Stella does. First off, everyone knows her. We step into a bagel shop, and two guys behind the counter immediately holler “Stella!” like a couple of lovelorn Marlon Brandos.
