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“How is Fallon?” Tom dumps his wet clothes on top of his bag.
“She’s fine.” I shrug, unable to take my eyes off him.
“Are you freaking out, Leighton?” His lopsided grin erases any hint of the fatigue he’s been holding all night.
“W-what?” My knees quake and it has nothing to do with fear. And everything to do with want. No, need.
He shuffles closer, and my gaze dips to his bare feet. I don’t understand why, but his current state of undress—bare feet, damp chiseled chest, the start of the sinfully muscled V at his sides that disappears beneath the towel—I find all of him sexy as hell.
“I don’t want you confused or freaked out.” He takes one final step toward me. “I tell you what.”
He stands in front of me, not even an inch between us, and for how chilled I felt all night and longed not to be… What I’d do for a little of that right now. I’m about to incinerate with the heat emanating from him.
“Leighton.” He curls my hair behind an ear, and I tremble at his touch. “How about we end the questions and ambiguity?”
“Um.” My tongue feels heavy and dry. “How do you suggest we do that?”
His gaze lasers in on my lips, and before he even speaks, I hope I’m right in what’s to come.
Head slowly moving toward mine, his words come out on a naughty smile. “Vail was only the beginning.”
22
TOM
My lips are a breath away from Leighton’s, and I don’t want to lose sight of her, but I also want to block everything else out.
Deepen the sensation of our mouths touching. Hot and soft.
Relish any sounds, infinitesimal or otherwise, that she may emit. Pleasured and needy.
Bathe in her unique fruity scent that surrounds us. I’ve finally figured out what she smells like. Strawberries and cream. It makes me want to lick her all over to find out if every inch of her tastes sweet and juicy, rich and creamy.
I’m greedy for it all and I close my eyes, anticipating our kiss. But like the blast of a bullhorn, she springs away from me. My eyes pop open as the back of her skull hits the hotel room door on a yelp. I wince at how it must hurt and reach for her.
She barges past me, farther into the room, attempting to put as much distance between us as possible in this small space. “Get dressed. I’m starving.”
Shocked and suddenly small, it feels like a house has flattened me. What just happened?
Leighton stares at me from several feet away. But she isn’t looking into my eyes or at my face. No, her gaze fixes on my body.
All of me, half-dressed, seems to both stun and spark something within her, despite what she just said and the space now between us. She covetously roams my body, pupils darkening with every inch she traverses down to where the towel hangs on my hips.
I’m frustrated and confused but also wholly aware that she’s tired and hungry—I’d call her hangry but something tells me it might not go over too well. But this distance between us feels like more than that. Her resolve to stay away from me causes havoc with my mind.
Why is she doing this? All I can come up with is fear. It’s been the root cause of all her attempts to keep me out. What’s she afraid of?
As much as I want to get to the bottom of this, I am aware that pushing her right now isn’t a good idea. I march back into the bathroom and get dressed.
* * *
“Sorry. We’re all full up. I don’t have any available tables.” This is the third time the hostess has responded to Leighton’s insistence on seating us. “I can’t miraculously find one for you.”
“Can we order takeout?” My suggestion or the calm way in which I ask does the opposite of placating Leighton.
She growls, curls her hands into fists, and narrows her sharp gaze on me. “I don’t want—”
A man not too far from the hostess station cuts off Leighton with his jovial boom. “Hey, Missy, those folks can share our booth.” He slides out of the leather bench to standing and shakily strolls over to us. “That is, if you don’t mind sharing.”
