“Are you finished sulking?” he asked.
“I wasn’t sulking.”
“No?”
“I was expressing refined dissatisfaction.”
“You were glaring at breakfast.”
“The toast started it.”
His thumb moved once over my side. “Difficult man.”
“Discerning.”
“Stubborn.”
“Selective.”
His voice softened. “Beautiful.”
Every clever answer deserted me.
Reid stepped closer until my knees bracketed his hips. He bent his head, touching his brow to mine.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The apartment smelled of coffee, rain, toasted bread, and his clean skin. Wind pressed at the windows. Pipes clicked softly in the wall. Somewhere below us, the old building shifted with the tide.
Then Reid kissed me.
Slowly.
The first brush of his mouth was warm and familiar, but familiarity had never made him careless. Reid kissed with intention. His hand tightened at my waist. His lips parted mine, and the taste of coffee and mint slid over my tongue.
I caught the front of his shirt and pulled him in.
A quiet sound escaped him.
It was barely more than breath, but I felt it everywhere.
The kiss deepened. His beard rasped against my jaw. His thumb slipped beneath the hem of my shirt and traced a line of bare skin that made my spine arch.
My pulse began beating in inconvenient places.
“When is your first meeting?” I whispered against his mouth.
“Seven.”
“Reschedule it.”
“The insurance adjuster is coming.”
“Tragic.”
“He’s driving from Astoria.”
“Then he has plenty of time to reflect on his choices.”
