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And then, I can picture it with her. But I’m transported out of the kitchen to us on an oversized sofa, sipping wine in front of the fireplace on a snowy evening. My arm wrapped around her shoulders.
Fuck. What’s wrong with me?
“Show me upstairs,” I say, needing to wrap this up and get out of here, away from her.
It probably wasn’t the best suggestion, because it’s tortuous watching the way her ass sways beneath the material caressing it like a lover’s hand as she takes each step leading to the second floor.
She sashays down the wide hall, and I lag behind as she leads me into the large master bedroom. It’s definitely a master, demanding attention with crown molding above a large bay window.
“Wow,” I breathe out.
“It’s something, right?” She smiles. “I was thinking this would be an accent wall. This color isn’t bad. I’d pick something similar, because it’s soothing.” She runs her hand along the faded blue paint, and explains the color palette in detail. “Can you see it?”
Unable to tear my eyes away, I move closer and rest my shoulder against the wall. Thankfully, I don’t fall through the rotting wood I’m certain is behind the sheetrock. “I see a mess. I see you out here in the middle of nowhere. And even though it might end up being the most beautiful house, it’s still in the middle of nowhere.”
“I don’t like that answer.” She taps her finger on my temple. “Use your imagination again.”
Alarm bells ring at what forms in my mind. As clear as HD, I can picture a bed along the far wall with her spread out, tangled in white sheets, arms outstretched, begging me to join her.
Her hand treks down the wall in slow motion and creeps dangerously close to mine. It’d be so easy to raise my fingers and touch hers. My heart pounds in my chest, echoing in my ears so loud she can probably hear it.
She drops her hand from the wall. “Want to see the bathroom?”
“Sure, and then I’ll get my measuring tape to get some measurements.”
Like a butterfly, Paisley floats across the large room and disappears into the en suite bathroom. “In here, I want a Roman tub. I’ve already been looking for one.”
I peek my head in the door, as she continues to talk, because my brain can’t process the thought of Paisley soaking in a Roman tub at the end of a long day, sudsy bubbles all over her naked body. Me slipping in behind her to wash her long locks.
“Vaughn?”
I shake my head, evicting the fantasy trying to move in. “Sorry, what?”
“Could you do that?”
“Yeah, I can do that.” I may have just promised to do something impossible like build her the Taj Mahal. But, I don’t care, because the smile that lights up her face is worth it.
“Wow, so manly.” She waggles her eyebrows and brushes past me.
“What do you mean?”
She stops in the middle of the room. “It’s just manly how you can fix everything.”
For some reason, I now have a desire to start hammering things. Like her. “Yeah?”
She takes a step backwards. “Yeah, it is. You could build a whole house for me.”
“This is true.” As I approach, erasing the space between us, she takes another step backwards until she’s against the wall.
She looks up at me, and I’m way too fucking close. I never meant to get this close, but if I’m making excuses, that wall came out of nowhere. I could lean down and kiss her if I wanted. And I want to.
Bad.
Fuck.
“I’ll get my tape measure.” Before I do something I’ll regret, I get the hell out of her bedroom.
What just happened?
I bound down the stairs, straight out the front door and to the back of my truck. It takes several minutes of breathing in the cool October air before my body no longer feels like it’s burning.
By the time I stabilize my nerves and re-enter, I’m calm and cool as a cucumber.
She’s waiting in the living room, unphased. “Need help?” she asks, as if she didn’t feel the charged energy that passed between us upstairs.
And hell, maybe she didn’t.
“No, I’ve got it.” I walk past her, into the kitchen, and take measurements.
Am I being stand-offish? Maybe, but I no longer care. I just want to get out of this house.
This is the second time in my life the opportunity to kiss Paisley has presented itself, and I’ve been able to turn it down both times. Even though both times I wanted to.
I deserve an award.
At eighteen, I knew better. I knew I couldn’t take what I wanted and deal with the repercussions of what kissing her would mean.
But tonight, it’s like all the what-ifs are surfacing once again.
“I have a few things picked out already,” she says from the archway of the kitchen entrance. “Actually, I have so much of everything I want to do picked out, I made a Pinterest board.”
