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“This is about you thinking you’re not sexual again, isn’t it?”
I try to slide past him, but he tugs me close.
“The last thing I want right now is for you to try to make me feel better. There’s nothing wrong with me. Just because I’m not interested in—”
He places two fingers over my mouth. “Do not tell me you are not interested in sex. You’re a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.” He takes his hand off my mouth. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re low on self-esteem and confidence, I’ll give you that. But you are a warm-blooded, beautiful woman who could seduce any man you put your mind to. I know because I’m one of them.”
“Nash...” I breathe, surprised, trembling, fluttering where I always seem to flutter if I think about him too much. I close my eyes when his hand cups my face and he bends low, covering my mouth with his.
I’m frozen in shock at first, the tender touch so surprising. So warm and wonderful. I can’t resist for long and respond, coming alive like Sleeping Beauty after her long nap.
A husky groan leaves him and he changes the angle, deepening the kiss. Heat like I’ve never felt explodes inside me. This is what a kiss feels like when a manwantsto do it.
WhenIwant to do it.
He presses my mouth harder, and I open to him, allowing his tongue to sweep into my mouth and intoxicate me much faster than trying to get drunk ever has. His mouth is clever, gliding and nibbling, pushing and retreating. I clutch his solid, firm biceps and arch into him. I want to get a better taste of him. I want to feel him in the places where he’s not touching me.
The riptide kiss pulls me far away from the safe shore I’m so used to, and all I can do is hold on to him.
He slows the kiss down, bringing it back to its tender beginnings. My rubbery legs are somehow still holding me up when he takes a step back. “It doesn’t seem gentlemanly to tell you I told you so, so I’ll infer it.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but he just smirks. “That’s the same thing.”
He presses a different kind of kiss to the top of my head. “Richard the Flea was a dud in bed if you kiss like that but think you aren’t interested in sex. But don’t take my word for it. By all means, let me show you sometime.”
“Nash...”
He winks at me. God, I love hating him. “Pops is making barbecue tonight. He prides himself on his sauce. I know he’d like it if you came by. You can ride with me if you want.”
I nod, saved from saying something awkward when Fifi goes to the door.
Later that day, we’re sitting on Brandon’s deck overlooking the water. The salty air is nothing compared to the salty language between Nash and his dad, but their stories are funny, and I enjoy the good-natured teasing between them. Nash hasn’t touched me since this morning, and luckily he hasn’t mentioned the kiss. The kiss I can’t stop thinking about.
Some kind of door has opened. Maybe more like the lid on Pandora’s box. But I look inside at my frigid sexuality and now I have questions. Questions I think Nash could answer for me. But I’m also so afraid of letting my guard down, I don’t know if I could let him.
Brandon brings out his guitar and sits next to me on a bench. Nash rolls his eyes at him. “That thing doesn’t work on all the women you know. Have some self-respect.”
Brandon ignores him, tuning the strings. “You play any instruments, Tru?”
“I played the violin poorly through middle school.” I think of the beautiful piano that used to belong to my grandmother. “My grandmother played piano. She was quite good. And my grandfather used to play records but no instruments.” Brandon laughs and forces the guitar at me. “No, I couldn’t.”
“Sure you can.” He teaches me some chords, which I play poorly, but Brandon is as patient a teacher as his son. It takes me a minute to realize what I’m feeling. Peace. A sense of well-being. I’m not guarded. I’m not trying to politely engage someone’s attention—they just give it to me here.
I look up and catch Nash watching me. I can’t read the expression on his face, but it feels colder than what I hoped for.
