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Fergus leans on Agatha’s head.
“I’ve brought a catalogue of the equipment that was damaged. You can choose what you like—” I open my mouth to interrupt when his eyes gleam. “There are no prices written, so don’t think about going for the cheapest thing. I already have an idea of what to get. I just want your input.”
My mouth closes with a snap, and I sigh.
“We’ll clear out. The game’s over anyways.” Ian makes a sound. “The boys are also waiting for me outside my place.” As he picks up his keys, he glances at Agatha, “Need a ride?”
Fergus flings his arm over her shoulders.
“She’s good. I need to talk to her about my new restaurant.” Agatha makes a face.
“It’s the weekend. I don’t want to work—”
“I’ll get you some Ben and Jerry’s on the way,” Fergus bribes, and Agatha grins.
“Work never stops.”
I note the sharp look Fergus gives Ian, and dimly wonder what is going on there.
I lean against the counter as everyone leaves, picking up their share of the food.
When Philip walks back in, I am staring at the wall, trying to make sense through this whole entangled mess I find myself in. He doesn’t approach me, just sits across from me.
We don’t talk for a few moments. The silence is cold and brittle, before I say, “How can you expect me to trust you when you give away my secrets with such ease?” Philip frowns.
“It was necessary, Charlotte. We would never have been able to—”
“You could have asked!” My voice is shrill, filled with a hurt that I don’t want to reveal.
He stiffens and stares at me, taken aback by my outburst. I see regret fill his eyes.
“You’re right. I should have asked. I’m sorry.” His words throw me off, the easy acceptance in them.
I shift, not knowing my own next step, “Yeah. Well, next time, ask.”
He moves with a fluid motion, around the counter, until I am settled in his arms. Looking down at me, he looks serious as he asks, “Am I forgiven?” I shrug my shoulders.
“Yeah.”
I feel the way his body pressed against mine, all his hard muscles against my softer curves, and I can’t quite control the tingling in my lower belly. He gives me a sly smile.
“Can I get a kiss then?”
The man weakens my defenses, ripping them down every time I try to rebuild them with these small acts, like asking for a kiss.
I don’t know how to react to such a sweet demand, and even as I find myself leaning up to press my mouth to his, I know he is doing it deliberately, wearing me down.
However, unlike the previous times when he let me maintain control of the kiss, there is something more agitated about him this time. His lips move against mine, softly, a gentle movement, until his hand reaches up to grip the back of my neck in a dominant hold.
I barely have time to react before I feel the urgent press of his tongue against my lips, demanding entrance. Moaning against the sudden change in pace, I find myself caving and parting my lips. He quickly seizes the opportunity, and his hot tongue enters my mouth.
I have never been kissed the way Philip kisses me.
My knees weaken as he sucks on my tongue and then takes his time to explore my mouth. He has a firm hold on my neck, his mouth moving against mine with leisure. I feel my lower muscles contract when he licks my mouth, his tongue wet and hot.
He groans when I hesitantly play with his tongue, and I feel the way his hand tightens in my hair, making me tremble with desire.
I find myself out of breath when he pulls away, and my breath comes in short pants, as he kisses my forehead, and holds me to him.
