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Shrugging and turning his lips down, he says, “I’m all for slow. That doesn’t mean that I can’t enjoy the view on our journey there.”
My cheeks heat up as I laugh and turn away from him. His phone buzzes, and he goes to answer it.
I can tell it’s a business call as he asks questions about a new venture the business is exploring. He talks numbers for a moment and then ends the call.
My head is laid against the headrest, and my eyes are closed. It’s been a long day. At work, I toured a recreation center in the heart of one of our largest Hispanic communities and the park across the street from it.
When I finished that, I made my way downtown to meet with some of the foundation's architects to discuss plans for renovating the recreation center and making upgrades to the park.
After that, I had a long phone call with my mother about next year’s plans for the annual fundraiser. Between all that, Kincaid was never far from my mind. Excitement hummed in me all day at the thought of seeing him again.
I had rushed from work to find the perfect dress and shoes for an unknown date. I’d only made it home an hour and a half before Kincaid’s arrival. Just long enough to shower, dress, and do my hair and makeup.
I’m tired and would love nothing more than to get some sleep. But I wouldn’t exchange this time with Kincaid for all the rest in the world.
“Hey,” he says lightly as he brushes my fingertips.
“Yes,” I murmur, rolling my head to the side to look at him. He’s already unbuckled his seatbelt.
His gaze is hungry, and he looks like he wants to devour me. I have no idea how I will hold this man off and take it “slow.” I’m pretty sure my definition of slow and his are the opposite.
“Have you eaten?” he asks, standing.
“Not since lunch, but I didn’t get to eat much of that.”
“Come on,” he says, kneeling before me and releasing my seatbelt.
“Where are we going?”
“Follow and find out,” he says, leading me to the back.
This isn’t the same one we were on the last time. It’s much bigger than the other. He slides two doors apart, and I’m greeted by black leather luxury dining chairs around a glass table. There’s nothing on the table.
The surprise sits in the middle of the floor. A gasp escapes me as I look at the floor and see the rose-petal-covered blanket covered with platters, candles, two plates, and two wine glasses.
“Cade,” I say softly, looking up at him.
The look in his eyes is tempered, and I can’t quite read what he must be thinking or feeling. The tension in the air is thick, and my heart pounds ferociously.
He pulls me into his arms and sucks my bottom lip before slowly kissing me. I feel the unbridled passion humming between us. I feel that it will be explosive when we finally come together again.
I can feel the restraint in his kiss that he’s holding on to. It’s an intoxicating cocktail of sexual repression, frustration, and barely concealed relief.
What is the relief?
That I’m back in his arms? Or that he’s back in my life at all?
When he pulls back, he swipes a thumb over my lips.
“I don’t fucking like slow, Nia,” he grunts.
I laugh. “You don’t get to make the rules, Kincaid.”
“When you’re all mine again...I will fucking punish you for this.”
Laughing, I say, “Promises. Promises.”
He helps me lower to the floor and says, “Let’s just hope we don’t run into turbulence.”
