Everything this week has been better than the books.
He walks me to my suite at ten.
This is new. This is not the library door or the lodge entrance. This is the long corridor of the private wing and the door of my specific guest room.
I turn at the door and he's right there, and the physical chemistry that's been building since a mountain road and a baby elk and two trucks and a near-miss that I'm going to be grateful for every day of my life is entirely present between us.
"The grand opening is Friday," I say, because I'm stalling and he knows I'm stalling and he's going to let me.
"It is."
"And you leave Sunday." He adds quietly.
"I drive back Sunday." I look at him. "I've been thinking about the six-week gap."
"So have I."
"Any thoughts?"
He takes a step closer. Not all the way, just enough. "A few." His hand comes up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Are you going to send the pitch tonight?"
Right. The pitch.
"Yes," I say.
"Good girl."
Oh.
Oh, that one landed right between my thighs. My clit is literally buzzing with the chemistry.
I've read those words. I've read them dozens of times in dozens of books and understood them intellectually and thought yes, I understand the appeal. And I’ve understood it this week. But tonight? Tonight it lands differently.
"Anthony," I say, in a voice that has lost some of its steadiness.
"I know," he says, and he kisses me.
Different from the ridge. That was the beginning, open and discovering and asking something. This is an answer. His hands frame my face and I'm backed gently against the door and there's nothing tentative about any of it. This is the kiss of someone who is done deciding and wants me to be completely clear about that. It’s the most claiming kiss I’ve ever felt. It’s almost violent. I kiss back, giving him the answer.
I am completely clear about it.
When he pulls back I'm holding the lapels of his coat and I don't immediately let go.
"Send the pitch," he says, against my mouth. "Then sleep."
He's giving me instructions while his hands are still on my face and I can still feel the warmth of his mouth on mine and it should be funny. It is a little funny. It's also the most cared-for I've felt in years.
"Okay," I say.
"Okay?"
"Okay, I'll send it and I'll sleep."
“Try again.”
Oh.
I’ve read this a million times. I’m answering incorrectly.
