Chapter 20
The kitchen lights momentarily twinkled off and on, a distraction that tugged Dylan and Chloe’s lips apart. It was nearly midnight, the time when Tropical Storm Amelia was to hit Fortune’s Bay the hardest. Gusts of wind howled, flapping around any debris in its path, while rain dropped like bullets against the house.
“We’d better head back upstairs.” Dylan took her hand in his, led the way to his room, and when they walked in, he closed the door behind him. “What side of the bed do you prefer?”Dude, sleeping with her is a really bad idea. But, as per usual, Dylan ignored his righteous inner voice, even though he knew full well,sleepingnext to Chloe Davenport, with her sexy—everything—would be like eating pizza without cheese—insane.
She bit down on a fingernail, making him privy to her apprehension. “The one farthest from the window.”
“Shall I build a divider separating one side of the bed from the other?” He walked over to the bed, began removing the mountain of decorative pillows.
Chloe snickered, and joined him in the task at the opposite side of the bed. “That’s not necessary. We’re only going to sleep together. Besides, I didn’t shave my legs.”
It was a comical revelation to Dylan, one he’d never heard before. “And what does that have to do with anything?” He watched her face light up, the curve slowly building up on the lips he wanted to taste again and again. Because kissing Chloe felt hypnotic, spellbinding, riveting. Like a body-sizzling, desire-inducing drug he could easily get hooked on for life.
“It’s from the movieReturn to Me. The main character was going on a first date with a hot guy and her sister told her not to shave her legs. I believe the exact words were,For your safety, don’t shave your legs because then you definitely won’t let it go too far.It’s one of my favorite advice lines in a movie.”
They pulled the duvet back, folded it neatly across the foot of the bed, Chloe seemingly unfazed by the bedroom lamp flickering off and on.
“Advice?” He pounced on his side of the bed, eyes flashing with amusement. “For the record, a guy wouldn’t be turned off by stubble on the legs.”
Chloe stood over the bed, head cocked to the side, mouth turned up. “It has nothing at all to do with the guy.” She removed her slippers, eased into bed.
Dylan turned on his side, elbow propped up on the pillow, cheek in palm. “Oh, I see. It’s your Personal Protection Plan.”
Chloe let out an easy laugh as she turned to face him, head resting comfortably on her pillow, gorgeous lashes sweeping up and down. “That’s a fun way to describe it. My very own Personal Protection Plan. If I don’t shave my legs, that means there will be no heat between the sheets.” She pulled the cover up and over to her neck as she said it.
“And when you do shave them?” His eyebrows lifted in hopeful curiosity.
“Then, well, it means I’m ready to…”
“Say no more. But don’t be surprised if one day I ask if you’ve shaved them.”
The thunder was back, no doubt with a vengeance and this time Chloe let out a small screech.
“This is probably the worst of it. Close your eyes, try to fall asleep, and before you know it, you’ll awaken to a storm-free morning.” Dylan leaned over and turned off the light on the bedside table.
As they lay there facingone another in the darkened room, rain fell, lightning bolted across the sky, and thunder clapped, as if giving praise to the storm. Dylan’s heart thumped, not because of the sounds of Amelia. No, that heart thump was all about the woman who ignited him, made him fully infused with life.Warm and fuzzy. God, was he turning into a Hallmark movie hero?Um, no. Not a Fifty-Shades hero either. It was, however, becoming apparent to himself, sleeping next to a woman he wanted, his body was beginning to throb for, would be harder than his failed task to stay away from her in the first place.
“We still have two more questions left in our Ten Questions game.” Chloe’s assertion made him snicker.
“You’re right. Wanna go first?”
“Sure. You ready?”
“Uh-huh…”
“Why don’t you like to take photos anymore?”
Why?Because he hated everything that reminded him of Cynthia and Dick. They slaughtered his passion. Robbed him of the life he built in Boston and he had yet to get back that gumption. Dylan swallowed the stiff lump in his throat. “Taking pictures somehow brings back memories of the life I fled.”
Chloe reached over him, pulled the chain on the lamp to illuminate the room, sat up, legs crossed. “I get that it hurt. Catching them together. But, Dylan, please don’t let them win. You’re an amazing, talented photographer. And that talent has nothing at all to do with them.” She took his hand in hers, brought his knuckles to her lips, and kissed each one. Slowly. Almost methodically.
Oh, God. The sensation made him want to pull her on top of him, taste those sweet lips all over again. Though doing so may be too abrupt, likely push her away—and that was the last thing he wanted to do.
“Promise me you’ll think about it. Take up photography again.” She spoke soft yet demanding.
He lifted his hand, caressed her face, and said, “I promise.” Then leaned over to the lamp, turned the light off again, and said, “Now, it’s my turn, then we need to get some sleep, okay?”
“Okay, I’m ready.”
