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“Eventually.”
A strangled sound escapes my throat. “You are such a dick!”
“What? I’m just helping you. Maybe now you have a shot at getting laid.” His amusement rings clear as he echoes my words from yesterday.
“I don’t have problems in that department, either,” I throw back haughtily.
There’s a pause. “Who’s Corey?”
“My ex.” I tug my socks on.
“Why’d you break up?”
Do I want to indulge his curiosity? Will he somehow use it against me? “We grew apart. Or got bored, I don’t know. I ended it before I came here.” I throw open the door to find Jonah leaning casually against the wall, his gaze on the ceiling above, giving me a clear view of a jutting Adam’s apple. Even his neck is pleasant to look at.
Blue eyes settle on me, and I momentarily forget that I’m irritated.
“Why do you want to know about me and Corey?”
He shrugs. “Just curious.” His gaze slides down the violet tunic shirt that clings to my frame and my black leggings below. The look on his face is unreadable, and yet it makes my pulse quicken all the same.
I sigh heavily and try a more civilized approach. “Jonah, can I please have my stuff—”
“No.” There’s no hesitation, no teasing inflectio
n anymore.
“Fine,” I say curtly. “I’ll have fun trashing your house until I find it.” Because he can’t stay home all day.
I move to march past him, but he stops me with a swift hand on my side, and then his other hand on my other side, gripping me tightly as he herds me backward, until I feel the cool wall through the back of my shirt.
My hands fly up between us instinctively to press against his chest, unsure of exactly what’s happening, my mind not registering much beyond how solid and warm his body is, how my palms curve around ridges.
Not until I dare look up, not until I see just how dark and intense his eyes have turned, do I begin to see it.
This newly found attraction might not be one-sided after all.
One . . . two . . . three beats hang as we seem to silently measure each other, as I struggle to grasp exactly how this has happened.
And then Jonah leans down and skates his mouth across mine, in a kiss softer than I could ever imagine him capable of. His lips taste like mint toothpaste and the brown sugar from my oatmeal, and the soft, freshly cut hair of his beard tickles my skin in an oddly intimate way.
I can’t breathe.
He pauses, and then makes a second pass. He’s testing me to see how I’ll respond.
“I thought you didn’t like my kind,” I whisper, my fingers too timid to venture over this massive canvas of chest.
He loosens his death grip on my waist, letting one hand drop to curl around my hip while the other smooths upward, over my back and shoulder blades, to wrap around my nape. His fingers thread through my hair, pulling at it gently, forcing my head back. “I guess I was wrong,” he admits, in a voice so deep and husky that I feel it in the depths of my belly.
And then he’s kissing me without hesitation, his mouth coaxing mine open, his tongue sliding against mine, his breaths melding with mine. Blood rushes to my ears as my heart pounds with an intoxicating, addicting thrill I haven’t felt coursing through my limbs in forever. Heat floods right to my core.
I’m vaguely aware of footfalls pounding up the steps outside, and then Mabel’s loud, excited voice calls out, “Calla? Are you ready?”
Jonah peels away and takes a step back, letting out a soft, shaky breath as he goes. It’s the first and only sign that I might be affecting him as much as he is affecting me.
“Hey!” Mabel stands in the hallway, dripping water from her canary-yellow rain slicker onto the floor, her wide-eyed gaze flickering back and forth between us. “What are you guys doing?”
“Umm . . . We’re . . .” I stutter. Is she too young to sense the tension in the air? To figure out what she just interrupted?
