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God, this is such a problem.
Ford is such a problem.
When he was being an arrogant prick, it was easy to keep him at arm’s length. But, today at school, and then just now when we were alone, I didn’t want to leave his arms at all. I wanted to throw myself into them and take solace in his strength.
This isn’t one of Della’s storybooks, though.
This is my life. There isn’t a heroic prince to save me from my prison tower. I’m the hero, and I have to figure out a way to save the little princess before the villainous king has both our heads.
I slip back inside and follow the sound of Dad’s voice. He’s locked in conversation in his office. Sandra is in the kitchen, having a meeting with the kitchen staff. Knowing I can steal another minute with Ford, I pounce on the opportunity.
Della darts out of the classroom, nearly smacking into me. She grins—quite wolfishly I might add—and then skips down the hall to her room. I peek in the classroom to find Ford on one knee, wrangling his cat Della told me all about into a pet carrier. He curses at the creature a few times before managing to get it locked up.
“Heathen is a vicious bitch,” Ford says, grinning up at me. “You can keep her if you want.”
“Way to sell it,” I tease.
He rises to his feet, leaving the carrier on the floor. Before I lose my nerve, I rush over to him. Standing on my toes, I tilt my head up and press a soft kiss to his cheek. I start to pull away, but his strong arm snakes around me, pulling me to his solid chest.
“What was that for?” he rumbles, hooded eyes searing into me.
“To thank you. For being so good to Della.”
“What do I need to do in order to get your lips on mine?”
Is this how it feels to like a guy and be liked back? I’m so inexperienced in the dating department it’s not even funny. The way he looks at me and touches me, like I’m already his, is distracting. It makes me want to forget about all my troubles and stress.
“It’s not like that,” I lie, my voice a needy whisper.
“It’s not?” He smirks, clearly amused by my lies. “So this thing between us is what? Just friends?”
Not only am I seriously lacking when it comes to boyfriends, I’m no better in the friend department either. Of course I’d become enamored with the first guy to push past my defenses and force his way inside.
“Yeah, just friends. We already established this on Monday.” I swallow and shrug. “Do you even know how to be just friends with a woman?”
“Nope.”
He chases the word out of his mouth toward me and then his lips are on mine. Soft and gentle at first. I sigh at the sweetness and surprise of it. A groan rumbles through him and he takes the opportunity to drive his tongue into my mouth. He tastes like caramel, which is fitting since his eyes are that rich light brown shade in this moment. I want to devour him. Clinging to his shirt, I tug him closer, needing to kiss him longer, deeper, harder.
His teeth find my bottom lip when we pull back just enough to catch our breath. I suck in a shocked breath and he follows it with a throaty chuckle. Then, his mouth is back on mine, owning my lips and tongue with his.
It feels good.
Really good.
To be tasted and explored.
His kisses are more than possessive. They’re filled with such passion. Like I can hear his thoughts and feel his desire with each swipe of his expert tongue over mine.
Dad’s voice, calling for Sandra down the hall, kills the mood. I jolt in Ford’s grip and jerk away from him. Smoothing down my hair and licking my lips, I try to right myself after such a soul-stealing kiss.
It’s nearly impossible.
Gone are the playful smirks and taunting grins.
Ford watches me, a frown transforming his features. As though he can’t figure me out. The hunger in his caramel eyes makes it pretty easy to know what’s going on in his head. He wants to take my mouth with his once more. The feeling is mutual.
But I can’t.
Not with Dad on the prowl.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” I whisper, unable to look at him when I say it. “My dad—”
“We did do it, though. It’s done, honey.” He winks at me. “And it’s going to happen again, too. Soon.”
“Ford.”
“Landry.” He breaks into an impish grin. “I’m not sorry about it.”
Me neither.
The fluttering in my chest and the silly smile tugging at my lips is all the proof I need. I’m not sorry and that’s a problem.
Maybe he could help us.
Hope vines its way around my heart and gives it a squeeze. Maybe he could.
