Page 119 of The Best Thing He Never Wanted

She laughed softly. “I was just thinking how strange it is.”

“What is?”

“How normal this feels.”

He stilled. Not because he didn’t understand her. He did.

She must have seen something in his face, because her hand came up and rested against his cheek. “I didn’t mean ordinary.”

“I know.”

“I mean…” Her smile softened. “Us.”

He turned his head and kissed her palm. “Yeah, darlin’. I know what you mean.”

And he did. That was the part that kept catching him off guard. None of this felt like something they were trying to build on purpose. It wasn’t a vacation affair they were squeezing into the days they had, and it didn’t feel like pretending at some life neither of them actually had. It just felt like them—and like them being them was normal.

She rose onto her toes and kissed him again, this time there was more heat behind it. He slid his hands around her waist, and when she pressed closer, he groaned against her mouth.

“You’re gonna make me forget there’s food in the oven.”

“We have a timer.”

“Good thinking.”

“I have my moments.”

He kissed her again, harder now, and her laugh disappeared into his mouth.

A few minutes later, when he lifted his head, she was flushed and breathing fast, and he was having serious trouble remembering why they were still standing in the kitchen.

He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “Upstairs?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He laughed. “Liar.”

“Possibly.” She took his hand and started for the stairs.

Halfway there, he glanced back toward the kitchen. “What about the timer?”

She stopped and looked at him, and for one godawful second, he thought she was going to suggest they wait. Then she grinned. “We’ll hear the oven.”

“Darlin’, this house has thick walls.” He stared at her, and she burst out laughing.

“Fine. Bring the timer.”

God help him, he loved this—not just the sex, although he wanted her badly enough that his whole body was impatient with the delay. Yeah, the sex was great—special. But this was about so much more: her laughter, the rain outside, dinner cooking downstairs, that stupid little garlic grater sitting beside his knife.

When he came back with the timer, she was holding out her hand, waiting for him to follow her upstairs.

He swatted her ass. “Move it—I’ve never done it with a timer ticking over me before; we’d better get up there.”

She laughed all the way up the stairs, and Blane followed close behind her, the timer in one hand and his other sliding around her waist as soon as they reached the landing.

“You’re cheating,” she said as he pulled her back against him.

“Pretty sure there aren’t rules.”