“Yes.”
“Will you go out with me?”
“Yes.”
It’s breathy, a mixture of relief and arousal in that simple answer that has my blood pumping enthusiastically south. I want to kiss him, wipe the uncertainty from his expression, andlet him know just how unconcerned I am with all his alleged deal-breakers.
“Tanner?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m going to kiss you.”
“Really? Yeah. That’s good. That’s?—”
I cut off his rambling as I press my lips to his, gently when all I want is to push my tongue into his mouth and listen to him gasp and moan. But he’s not ready for that.
Not yet.
Not even when his hand loosely grips the hem of my shirt, his head tilting in an attempt to deepen the kiss.
Pulling back, I smirk. “Tomorrow at seven. Here. I’ll make dinner so you don’t have to worry about anything outside this.” I let my gaze skate down to where his hand is still balled in my shirt, and he blushes, dropping the fabric that’s now wrinkled.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, making my lips twitch as he tries to smooth it down, but he’s just petting the bottom part of my stomach and the top part of my thigh. The color on his cheeks deepens as I stand to my full height and pull him up and against me so our bodies are flush.
“I’m not,” I tell him, loving the feel of him hard against my leg.
Affected.
Needy.
“Deacon.” There’s the slightest bit of panic in his tone, either at our proximity or the fact that I canfeelhis excitement.
Maybe it’s that he can feel mine too.
“Tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
Leaning in, I press a kiss to his cheek, the mostly clean-shaven skin luring me in along with the smell of his lotion or aftershave. I can’t wait to find out.
I can’t wait to find outeverythingabout Tanner Holiday.
12
TANNER
“Are you actually going to file that piece of paper,” Sorren asks, his tone pointed, causing me to jump, “or are you hoping it just flies into the folder all by itself?”
“Very funny,” I manage, my cheeks heating as I shove the paper into the correct spot and push the filing cabinet drawer closed.
“I thought so.” His lips twitch the slightest bit, amusement in his gaze. “The wall looks great.”
“Since when did you become such a busybody?”
“You’d think I’d be offended by that”—he smirks—“but I’m not. Miss Thelma will be so proud.”
He’s probably right because Miss Thelma knows everything about everything and everyone and she’s impossible to miss. She has a cat, Louise, and almost every item of clothing she owns either has Louise’s face or a cat that looks like Louise on it.
