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“I felt it,” I say, remembering the reassurance he’d conveyed compared to Alec’s indifference. “It meant a lot.” I don’t know how to ask the next part, but I give it a shot. “But then, after my wipeout?”
He feigns ignorance, though I’m sure he can see where I’m going with this.
“When you helped me up?” I press.
Staring contest.
I blink first. “I thought you were going to...” Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe I was reading too much into it. Oh, shoot. Why did I bring this up?
There goes his one eyebrow. “Kiss you?”
I shrug.
“I almost did,” he says, brushing the back of his hand against my arm, opening his palm to warm my skin.
“But you didn’t. And then you were... angry.”
“I didn’t think you wanted me to. Besides—”
I sigh. Much as I had wanted it, I am glad he resisted. “Alec.”
The name brings a grimace to Noah’s face.
“Why did you think I didn’t want you to?”
His hand freezes against my arm, and I realize that—even with Ryan’s assurances and the encouragement I thought I’d been giving, Noah’s still unsure how I’m taking this. The risks he’s taken for me—moving into my neighborhood, driving all the way down here today—are huge.
It’s time for some payback, and that three-day beard is begging for investigation.
I raise one hand to his face and trail my fingertips along the line of his jaw, his whiskers catching lightly on my nails. His eyes close and he leans into my hand, the contrasting softness of his lips brushing against my palm.
“You like it?” he whispers.
“It’s definitely a good look on you, but...”
His eyes pop open. “But?”
“I’ve never... I mean I’ve... but not with...” Words are stupid, so I ease a little closer, bypassing his tempting lips to place my own, lightly, into the whiskers near the corner of his mouth. I hear his breath catch, feel his hand tighten on my arm, smell cinnamon candy as I pull back enough to gauge his reaction.
His other hand seeks out my waist, warmth rippling outward from the contact. “And?” His voice is husky, eyes sparking.
I’m reminded of the fun I had teasing him during our tutoring sessions. “Hmm,” I say, leaning in to try the other side. His hand presses gentle encouragement into my back, so I make my way slowly to his ear. “Inconclusive.”
His chuckle rumbles against me, one hand moving up into my hair. “Further research?” he whispers against my cheek.
“Definitely,” I say, brushing my lips against the scruff. “I might even need a tutor.”
“Mmm,” he says, his hand sending delightful shivers down my back. He pulls away enough to meet my gaze, then leans in and inches his lips to mine for a leisurely display that puts the shivers to shame. “Grace,” he says a few divine moments later, leaning his forehead against mine.
“Hmm?” Heart racing. Can’t form words.
“You don’t need a tutor,” he says, warm hand against my neck, thumb skimming my cheek.
I tap his nose with mine, as he did mine in Moab. “How about a research partner?”
“I like the sound of that.”
Thwak! An overthrown frisbee hits the base of a tree nearby, startling us apart and reminding me we’re not alone and I’m staunchly opposed to public displays.
