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“Who needs food when you can taste kisses like that?” she murmured.
His smile widened. “So you’re admitting my kisses are the best kisses of your life?”
She looked him over and clucked her tongue. “You keep giving it your A-game and I’m sure you’ll get there someday.”
He couldn’t hold back a surprised laugh. “I guess it’s just work, work, work all the time for me then?”
“Poor guy. Torturous as noodlin’ for catfish and findin’ nothing but snapping turtles.” She fluttered her eyelashes. Curt was sunk. Was it possible to fall in love in ten days? How was he going to convince her to never leave?
It rained for the rest of the day, leaving them stuck inside, but Curt couldn’t have been happier. They kept busy cooking, eating, cleaning, exercising, talking, playing games, teasing, and kissing. Lots and lots of kissing. But he never got her to admit his kisses were the best kisses of her life. He savored her teasing and everything about her, and he had to force himself to let her go that night.
The next day, it was still raining. Curt didn’t mind. The thing he did mind … tomorrow was day ten. Her parents had informed her when they called last night that they had a plane ticket waiting for her at Traverse Airport. Ray had worked his magic and had a temporary passport ready for her. Of course her parents could hardly wait to see her and would ‘be there with bells on’ to pick her up in Atlanta.
Her family would be so happy to have her home, but day ten was doomsday for him. There’d been no sign of the men and with all the bodies found in his mountains, the case had become an international manhunt. It was still a hard and uncertain case because nobody had a solid description of the men and they were masters at disguises and fake identities.
Maybe Aliya couldn’t go home. She was only safe here with him. Selfishly, he didn’t want to let her leave, but her safety was no selfish matter. If he explained to her parents that she had to stay until the men were apprehended, they might agree. It could be years before those men were found. It was very wrong of him to wish for that.
They kept busy during the morning, enjoying their time together, but at lunch, she was obviously antsy. Was she worried about going home as well? Should he bring up the safety issues or bravely tell her he was falling for her and couldn’t stand the idea of her leaving? He doubted her family could afford security. Curt should be the bigger man and offer to pay for security so she could go home safe and stay safe, but staying here was a much easier and safer solution in his mind.
As they cleaned up the sandwich fixings and raw veggies, she turned to him, pressed her back into the counter, and said quickly, “Something is drivin’ me to drink, and I simply have to ask you about it.”
He smiled. “Yes, Aliya, you give me the best kisses of my life.”
She smiled back but shook her head. “And I keep tellin’ you perfect practice makes perfect. Trust me, my hunky prince, we’ll get you there. Someday.”
He loved her accent and was happy she didn’t even reference leaving him tomorrow. He eased close to her, pinning her against the countertop with his body and framing her hips with his hands pressed into the granite countertop on either side of her. Her breathing shortened, and she gazed at his lips before meeting his eyes.
“I guess I need some perfect practice.”
“Can’t deny the boy some help when he desperately needs it,” she teased. “Oh, forgive me. You’re a man, unlike the boys who gave me such tantalizing kisses before.”
Curt was ready to find and pummel any ‘boy’ who had kissed her, but she distracted him when she arched up and kissed him. He was completely lost in her and their all-consuming kisses.
Eventually, they pulled apart for oxygen. His gaze traveled over her beautiful face, so pure and unassuming and real.
“What do you keep in your shop?” she asked, rushing the words out as if worried she’d lose her nerve.
“In my shop?” What did that have to do with amazing kissing?
“It’s driving me batty that you’ve never shown me.” She bit at her lip. “You’ve shared everything else about your life with me.”
Not everything. They’d talked a little bit about losing his mum and the unsolved murder. They’d talked more about Tristan being burned in the bomb and Ray and Macey’s story. He hadn’t told her about Suzanne. There hadn’t been an opening that felt right.
“What’s in the shop, Curt?” She blinked up at him, her golden-brown eyes capturing him completely.
“It’s not a meth lab,” he tried to tease.
“A sausage factory, then? Like Mr. Johnny Verbeck?”
“Pardon me?” He was smiling already, and the longer they teased, the longer they could put off going to the shop.
“It’s a song my daddy used to sing. It gave us all nightmares. About the guy who ground up everything he could find in his sausage machine, including the cats and dogs, a little boy, and then himself. Is this not ringing any bells?”
“Thankfully no. There is a reason you’re so tough. Gruesome songs as lullabies?”
“That’s right. I’m tough ‘cause I’m Southern.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “And I can flutter my eyelashes like a toad in a hailstorm.”
“That you can.” He laughed again. “I have never seen a toad in a hailstorm.”
