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“You really care about her, don’t you?” Every time he talks about her, that hard set of his jaw softens. For a brief moment, I can see what he might be like underneath his snark and snarl.
“She’s amazing. If it weren’t for Mom, I’d… well, I think I’d be a miserable jerk.”
I can’t hold back my laugh. He flicks a rogue piece of lettuce at me but I dodge, still laughing until he cracks a smile. “Fine, even more of one.”
“Better.” I glance out the window where the snow continues to come down, now heavier than ever. My heart skips a beat. What if we’re snowed in together?
Chapter 12
Tyson
Ican’thelpstaringat her as she eats. Her hair is still a mess, tucked behind her ears and rumpled at the back of her head, but she looks like the kind of mess I imagine her to be after a tumble in a bed, and the thought is driving me wild with distraction. It takes everything in me to keep the conversation casual, especially when she’s only wearing that skimpy getup. Her nipples are clearly poking through the thin fabric of her tank top and the ribbed pajama shorts do nothing to hide the curve of her ass. If it weren’t for the ratty cardigan on top, I don’t know if I’d be able to focus on anything but her body.
She finishes the last wing, having devoured more than half of them, and leans back on the bar stool with a groan of pleasure. “That was perfect. Just what I needed.”
“Satisfied?” I look away as she stretches her arms overhead, revealing the smooth skin of her stomach.
“For now,” she says with a grin. She glances out the window. “Um, Tyson, not to be rude but do you really think this is the best day for a visit? Why are you here?”
Oh, shit. I can’t tell her the real reason — that I couldn’t stop thinking about her during my entire hike with Cole, even when my conscience told me I’d be better off staying away.
“You’re not far from my penthouse and I knew you wouldn’t have eaten a bite of real food today.” I quirk one eyebrow at her. “Pastry notwithstanding.”
“I’m a grown woman, you know?” She narrows her eyes, and the effect is anything but intimidating. In fact, it somehow transforms her innocent beauty into sex appeal. This isnotgood.
I get to my feet to clear away the empty containers. If I don’t keep busy, I’m going to push her up against the countertop and beg her to let me kiss her again.
Her place is tiny, barely ten steps between her kitchen and what passes for her living room. There’s a door off to the right that must be the bathroom and another on the other side that I can only imagine leads to her bedroom. It’s closed now. I wonder what it’s like in there, if her bed is sparse or decorated with pillows, or if it would creak when I threw her down on it. Like Cole’s place, the apartment has a homey feel. It’s full of decorative touches, plush blankets, and wall art that splashes color over the white walls.
“It’s not much,” she says, observing my exploration of her apartment.
I make a show of looking around. “I think it’s nice. You’ve got an interesting taste in art.”
It suits her. Colorful, vibrant, and unexpected. I give the counter a wipe-down and realize there is now nothing left for me to busy myself with. There’s only her and me and the quiet tick of a clock I can’t see.
I reach across the counter and brush a lock of hair from her face, letting my fingers linger on her cheek. Her trademark faint, irresistible blush creeps across her face.
“I-I’ll make us some coffee,” she says, leaping out of her chair as if it were electrified.
It hasn’t taken more than a few visits with Jordan to learn that coffee is a multipurpose tool for her — part coping mechanism, part distraction, and part fuel. She comes around the countertop, clearly expecting me to move out of her way, but I don’t move. Instead, I lean back against it and watch, forcing her to squeeze around me.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit cramped for a big ogre in here?” She looks over her shoulder at me as she pours beans into the grinder.
“It’s too cold to go back to my swamp.” I watch her from behind as she runs the grinder before pouring the ground beans into a pale pink French press. She stirs them with care while I fight the urge to jump up and wrap my arms around her waist.
“There, five minutes and we’ll have coffee.” She turns back to face me and the space between us is so small that the smell of her shampoo becomes overwhelming, something pepperminty.
My attempt to restrain my urge fails, and my impulse to reach forward and snake my hand around her waist takes over. I pull her to me and she doesn’t protest, yielding to my tug until she’s pressed firmly against my body, her hands on my chest. I tilt her chin upward with my fingertips and bend to kiss her. Her lips part, looking for more, but I keep the kiss tender, sweet, moving my hand up to cup her cheek. Her tongue darts out to find mine, as if she cannot stand the slow tease a second longer. She throws her hands around my neck and I lift her as she entwines her legs around my hips. I set her down on the counter behind her and position myself between her legs.
I cup my hand behind her head to protect it from the cabinet, the other stroking a slow line across her hip bone beneath her shorts. She moans into my mouth when my hand moves up to cup her breast, finding her erect nipple. The warmth of her against me is driving me mad, and my expanding cock strains against my jeans. I can’t tell who is suffering a worse torture from this tease, her or me. I want to take my time and savor her, while at the same time feeling the need to throw her down on the floor and ravage her. The conflicting desires battle inside of me.
“Do you want to?” I whisper into her ear, feeling her shiver at the brush of my breath against her skin.
She pants, leaning her forehead against my chest, fingers twisting the fabric of my shirt. “God, yes. But I can’t, Tyson. We can’t.”
I pull back, resting my hands on her hips, and nod. “Of course, I understand.”
She’s biting her lip again, nibbling at the corner I kissed only moments ago. “I have to tell you something,” she says.
