Another wave of goosebumps spreads over me but this time it’s accompanied by a strong flicker of awareness. I glance over my shoulder, and there’s Ryne.
“I didn’t hear you walk up,” I whisper, turning sideways.
“Quiet shoes.” He shrugs and I look down at the floor.
My annoyance from earlier dissolves and I bite back a smile. His footwear has leveled up from Carhartt boots to black Chuck Taylor All-Stars for the evening. They look cute with his black pants and fitted black and white button-up shirt. He’s not dressy by traditional standards, but he’s so handsome it’s almost painful to look at him.
I breathe out my reply. “Nice.”
Ryne searches my face, then takes a step closer to the display case and thereby closer to me. “Why are we whispering, Dacen?”
I decide shoving him up against the glass case and kissing him is probably not a great idea. For one thing, it could break the glass. Also because he might break my face with his fist if I tried. Hard to say with him. I stick my hands in my pockets; they’re itching to wrap around his strong frame and pull him close. “It’s quiet here,” I finally answer.
“And that means we have to whisper?” He’s no longer whispering, but his voice is low.
And suddenly I feel stupid. I shake my head, turn back toward the case, and bite my lip. This time I speak in a normal but quiet voice. “You look a lot like your dad.” I’m not sure if it’s an appropriate thing to say, given how private he is with the details of his life, but it’s just an innocent observation. And the photographic proof is staring me in the face. Beside me, Ryne inhales sharply and I regret the comment immediately. The pain on his face hurts my heart. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again, dropping my eyes.
“Why are you sorry?”
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s not against the law to tell me I look like my dad, Dacen.”
His eyes still scream with the unshed pain he carries, but he’s forced the rest of his expression into more neutral territory. You can’t control the eyes though. There’s a reason they say the eyes are the window to the soul. Those two fuckers are always hopped up on truth serum. Unless you’re some kind of a psychotic bastard, the eyes will always show your truth. No matter how hard you try to shutter them, how many walls you throw up, and how many lies fall from your lips, the eyes are like an annoying younger sibling gleefully spilling all of your secrets. And Ryne’s eyes? They’re some of the most beautiful, expressive things I’ve ever seen.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He raises an eyebrow and reaches toward my face but hesitates, then squeezes his hand into a fist and lets it fall to his side. He sighs heavily and shakes his head. “It’s fine. I have thick skin. It takes more than that to rattle me.”
Thick skin? Or defensive shields? I suspect it’s the latter, and that his shields are full of cracks he’s not even aware of. I wish he’d let me slip through one of them and work my way inside. I study his profile and think back to the fire pit, and the stuff he shared with me that night. Maybe I’ve worked at least a foot through one of his shields. But will he ever let me the rest of the way in? I’d sure as hell rather be invited in than have to sneak my way in like some stealthy love ninja. The thought of a little miniature version of me dressed in all black head to toe and weaseling my way through Ryne’s barricades makes me smile.
“What’s so funny?”
“What?”
“Why are you smiling, Dacen?”
“It’s not against the law to smile, is it?”
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and stares at the glass case while he speaks. “It should be illegal in all fifty states for you to smile with those dimples. They’re major assault weapons.” Ryne turns toward me again and this time when he reaches a hand out he doesn’t pull away. The backs of his fingers brush along my cheek. “These things could easily bring a guy to his knees.”
My smile deepens and he sucks in a breath. I take a step closer. “You’re still standing, Ryne. Are you immune?”
He stares long and hard, a little crease forming between his eyebrows. When he turns his hand over and cups my cheek in his palm I close my eyes and melt into his touch. His response is a breathy whisper against my lips.
“No.”
Kiss me.
Do it.
His breath taunts my lips again and I’m about to remove that last pesky millimeter of space between us by leaning in myself.
But then he kisses me.
His lips on mine are heaven; he tastes as sweet as honey and it feels... right. I suck the bottom one into my mouth and run my tongue over the smooth skin. He must bathe in lip balm because never have I seen or tasted a more perfect set of lips. They’re soft and smooth. For so long I’ve wanted exactly this, to lick him, taste him, inhale him. I’ve dreamt about it—and those dreams were full of x-rated awesomeness—but holy shit the reality is even better. A low moan slips from me when Ryne slides his hand from my cheek to wrap around and grip my neck. His other hand joins it, cradling my head and holding me gently but firmly in place.
I explore the ridges and lines of his obliques by running my hands along his sides, and his dick—which I can very much feel pressed against me right now—gets harder in response. He turns and presses me up against the glass. It rattles as I thump back into it but thankfully doesn’t break. We stand there breathing heavily, our eyes locked on each other, and he leans in and crushes his lips to mine again. A pleased rumble comes from him when I grab his waist and yank him in tighter. Ryne tilts my head to the side and kisses his way to the sensitive spot below my ear, drawing my skin between his lips, when there’s suddenly a figurative record scratch so loud I can practically hear it.
