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Cash leans forward across the table. “You thought I what, Caroline?”
He says my name so softly and covers my hand with his.
“I thought you were going to tell me that we…that you and I can’t be romantic. That because I’m …who I am…that I don’t have a home, that we’ll inevitably end up in a long-distance thing, and that this was just a fling because of my current situation, and you needed to focus on finding a business partner.”
Cash sits back in his chair, letting go of my hand. My heart aches at the loss of his touch. He scrubs a hand over his face.
“Man, I am fucking this all up,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“I dumped my ideas on you without being clear, and for that, I’m sorry. Caroline, I don’t want you out of the picture. I need youinthe picture. I need you in my life. That’s the focus, that’s the intention. You. I want you. I. Need. You.”
I suck in a trembling breath. “Oh.”
Cash leans over the table, cups my face, and plants an angry, fierce kiss against my mouth. He wants me. He wants me to stay.
I don’t think I can breathe, but he’s breathing for the both of us.
“Stay,” he urges. “Don’t go.”
That one word from his lips could convince me.
But who knows if the cabin rental is still available after I leave tomorrow.
He grabs my hand and kisses my palm, repeating, “Stay, Caroline.”
“What, and drink all your coffee? Drive you crazy every day?”
In response, Cash cups my face and draws me to him. He kisses me softly, so sweetly it feels like a plea.
From the perspective of the other customers, it’s a PG kiss. Under the table, though, Cash’s opposite hand is hiking up the material of my sundress, pushing it out of the way. My breath hitches when his hand lands on the bare skin between my thighs while he kisses me.
“Cash,” I say, breathless.
“Stay with me. Stay in Paradise Lane with me.”
“Keep fondling me under the table, and I won’t have the wherewithal to say no,” I say.
“That’s the plan. I need you. You’re my girl. You have to trust me that we can figure everything out.”
“But my book…all my meetings…my signing.”
He pauses to whisper in my ear. “Reschedule.”
I can’t tell if he’s being serious.
“I can’t do that,” I say, “People bought tickets.”
He growls. “What do I have to do to bring you back here when it’s over?”
His hand travels even further up my leg until his fingers brush against the crotch of my underwear.
“S-send me dirty photos of you in my underwear,” I breathe as my nipples go hard at the heated breath against my neck.
“I’ll do you one better. I’ll show the fuck up to your book signing wearing ’em.”
“You’re crazy.”
