Page 37
The stairs creak.
I freeze. “Hello?”
“Hello?”
It’s him. My heart skips a beat. I open my mouth to say I’ll be down in a second, but he’s already coming up the ladder. The attic is boiling hot already, but I’m ten times warmer as he appears in a white t-shirt that hugs his shoulders perfectly. There’s a scuff of dirt across the stomach. He’s been putting in the work this week on the ranch, proving his cowboy past to the wranglers. I’m not complaining. Every time I look out the window or walk across the lawn to the barn, I get a show that makes my head spin. It's probably bad to look, but I’ve been looking. And that’s why, as his body unfurls from the stairs, I have to drag my gaze back to the record in my hand.
“You need help?” he asks, glancing over the room.
I shake my head. “I was just coming up to look through some things.”
He goes to the record player. “Is this all your dad’s things?”
“No, it’s my mom’s.”
His eyes flick up, intelligent, patient. I like the way he observes people before he speaks. “Bill said she lives in NYC.”
I nod. “Yeah, she remarried. A hedge fund manager.”
“Interesting. That’s a move.”
I shrug, reaching out to lift the needle, but he takes my wrist before I can. The mood changes abruptly, tension rippling at the contact of warm skin. Mouth dry, I flick my eyes up, and they lock with his.
He swallows hard.
The song ends, and the next one starts.
“You can two-step to this one,” he says.
“Oh yeah?”
He moves in, one hand lighting on my back. He might be quiet, but he’s bold. Strains of I Walk the Line dissipate. All I know is looking into his eyes while being in his arms. Everything tingles. Everything is burning hot. Except my feet; those are cold with nerves.
“Here,” he says softly. “You just move. Like this.”
He does, dancing me slowly down the center of the attic. I keep up with him, which is a miracle with how empty my head is from being so close. It’s a little bit of dancing, but it's enough to change everything. We slow down and come to a halt by the trapdoor. His fingers tighten around mine. We both go still enough to hear our heartbeats.
“I’m having a bit of trouble,” I whisper.
“With what?”
“Behaving.”
His pupils dilate, and he leans in and kisses me. My pulse goes wild, and my body melts, fingers wrestling from his so they can tangle in his t-shirt. This time, he doesn’t hold back. His mouth parts my lips, and his tongue brushes past them, curling for a second before he pulls back.
“Go on, get down the ladder,” he orders.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. We scramble down, and I make for the door, but he grabs me by the nape and slings me back around to face him. Shocked, I fall into his chest. His mouth meets mine again, and his hands slide under my shirt to pull it free. Then, he lifts me in his arms, and we fall into the guest bed together.
“I don’t have a condom,” I pant.
He kisses between my breasts, down my stomach. “I have one.”
Oh, he came prepared. Interesting. I don’t have time to think about it, because he bites my hip, and my spine arches. His mouth drags across my stomach. His teeth close on the button of my jean shorts. His tongue flicks, and they’re unbuttoned, his teeth pulling down the zipper.
Oh God, I think I’m soaked.
My head falls back. I can’t resist him.
