Page 136 of Where Roads Lead

I shot him a questioning look, and he sighed, his hands tracing the length of my arms until they found mine.

“It’s new for me,” he admitted, intertwining our fingers and staring down at them. “Feeling all this…everything.”

“Feeling all this everything?” I laughed. “So eloquent.”

“Leave me alone,” he said, pulling me closer. “I can’t think around you, let alone speak.”

“Actually, I think you just don’t like talking to people in general.”

“I don’t,” he agreed.

“Well, you talk to me.”

“You’re the exception.”

“Why?”

“You like talking.”

“But do you like talking to me?” I batted my lashes dramatically.

“There are other things I like doing with you better.” His eyes fell to my lips.

“Come to think of it,” I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck, “talking might not be as great as it’s cracked up to be.”

I don’t know who leaned in first this time, but it didn’t matter.

With his lips on mine, I couldn’t think of a single thing in the world that did.

“Jesus Christ, Elsie,” Will said after several hours and tangled limbs later. “Why is it so damned cold in here?”

“Maybe because you’re not wearing any clothes?” I teased, trying to pull him back to where he’d been hovering above me.

He didn’t budge, glancing around the room as if he might suddenly find an open window responsible for the chill in the air.

While he was distracted, I looked him over again, letting my gaze linger.

For the millionth time that night, I felt myself blush. For the first time in my life, even my wildest imagination had been unprepared for how much better the reality of him was.

He caught me staring before I could hide what I knew was written all over my face. But I guess I didn’t need to anymore.

He surged forward with another kiss, my arms moving instinctively around his neck to pull him back on top of me, content for another few hours of this.

Just as I sank back into the pillows and let out a contented sigh, Will remembered his former complaint and sprang up into a sitting position beside me.

“Okay, something is seriously wrong,” he said, looking humorously grumpy against my paisley sheets.

“Yes,” I agreed, pulling the duvet up to cover me, “you’re not kissing me.”

“I meant the temperature in this house, Elsie,” he said, pulling on his pants and going to examine the baseboards.

“It’s fine,” I assured him. “I just forgot to move the heater from the living room to the bedroom before we, you know.”

“Are you telling me it’s always this cold in here?”

“Not when I have the heater on,” I said, dramatically obvious.

“Elsie, why the hell didn’t you tell me this place doesn’t retain heat?” He turned to glower at me, and damn it, if that look wasn’t some part of me was attracted to that particular expression more than any of his others.