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Before I can answer, headlights appear behind us. I jump, my elbow hitting the horn. The noise startles me and I yelp, then shove my bra back up and my shirt down, but Fallon’s hand tightens around my waist to stop me shuffling back to my seat. We wait in tense silence as the car passes us, slowing as it goes by.
My cheeks flame.
“They won’t be able to see anything, Jen. It’s dark.”
“I’m not the type of woman who makes out with strange men on the side of the road.”
That makes him smile. “Am I a strange man?”
“Extremely.” Wrenching myself from his grasp, I shuffle across to my own seat and let out a huff. It’s awkward and difficult and damn it, when did I get so old and creaky? Climbing across a car seat shouldn’t be this hard. Once I make it across, I slap my palm against my forehead and squeeze my eyes shut.
This is bad.
Very, very bad.
The kiss was great. Wonderful. Earth-shattering.
But the consequences?
Devastating.
I already want Fallon more than I can say. It’s clouding my mind, pushing all other thoughts to the side. Everything else that has happened over the past week fades to nothing. The competition? What competition? His sister? Iliana’s unexpected arrival? My career prospects? My book? My plants?
None of it matters, because my swollen, kiss-bruised lips are throbbing for more. Every heartbeat pulses through me and reminds me of all the places Fallon touched—and places he didn’t. Damp fabric clings to the space between my legs as I clench my thighs to ease some of the pressure.
I want him so desperately it aches in every part of me. I’m so far gone already, and it only spells trouble.
Because what happens next time Fallon leaves without warning? Next time he has “things to take care of” out of town and disappears for six months? What happens next time an ex-girlfriend shows up to stay at his place?
What happens when he gets bored of me?
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the four-and-a-bit decades of my life, it’s that I cannot keep a man entertained. I’m too neurotic. Too unyielding. Too stuck in my ways.
I have obsessions that my friends call quirks—and men call annoying.
Fallon said he’s been waiting years to feel my breasts, to kiss me like that—but what happens once he gets what he wants? The heat spearing my core tells me he’ll destroy me. Maybe he already has.
“Hey.” Fallon moves my hand from my brow with a gentle, firm touch, then hooks his hand around my neck. His lips are tender when they press against mine. “Whatever’s going on in your head right now, it needs to stop. I can’t have the best pastry chef in town panicking on me.”
His beard scratches against my jaw as he kisses my cheek, then my nose, then back down to my lips. I shiver, loving his touch far, far too much for my own good.
“We should get home,” he says quietly. “Big day tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I croak. “Sounds good.”
What happens after we get home might sound even better…if I can get out of my own head.
CHAPTER 11
Jen
Someone was in our room. The housekeeping staff, for one, but when I step inside the guesthouse, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. All the heat from my car ride with Fallon seeps out of me, replaced with cold dread.
“Does that look like the imprint of someone sitting on the bed to you?” I point to the slightly rumpled sheets near my pillow.
Fallon straightens from where he’d been bent over one of the drawers containing his clothing, his brows tugging together. “Maybe the maid needed a break when she was cleaning.”
I’ve stayed in a few hotels in my life, and I’ve never seen anything like this. Crossing to the closet, I glance at my shelf and freeze.
