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“And what does the winner get?” I demand, and we both pause. My gaze flickers to his lips and I clench my fist against my weakness.
Would it be so bad to kiss him now? After all, we are meant to be engaged after this weekend. I press my hand into my forehead, suddenly dizzy with a hormonal rush that’s trying to tell me I want him. Would it be so bad to give in?
“You okay?” he asks, giving me this look of such genuine concern that I crack and let myself flop against him, my head on his shoulder. His breath quickens under me, his shoulders rising and falling noticeably.
“Let’s play,” I say, avoiding the question.
The longer we watch the show for, the more heated we get. To my surprise, we are pretty evenly matched. I’m better at history and pop culture, but he’s smashing me at geography and music, and neither of us are great at sport.
“In 1981, which song stopped Foreigner from hitting number one with ‘Waiting for a Girl Like You’?”
“Oh! ‘Physical,’ Olivia Newton-John!” exclaims Aiden, punching the air in joy at his correct answer. “That puts us on twenty-seven, twenty-five to me I think.”
“Did you look that up?” I screech.
“Would I do such a thing?” he says, his eyes wide with innocence I don’t believe.
I rip the covers away from him, expecting to find him secretly searching on his phone, but his innocence is genuine after all. He gives me a wounded look, and it must be the shard of guilt that cuts through me because, without really thinking, I grab his shirt and kiss him.
His lips are as good as I remember them being. Even when I’ve been at my angriest, I could never quite make myself believe his kisses were terrible. And now his lips are on mine again, and he’s kissing me back and I’m dizzy with a lust I haven’t felt in a long, long time.
I tear myself away and wipe my mouth, breathing hard like I’ve run up some stairs. “Sorry,” I say. “I don’t know… I’m…”
“Do that again?” he says, and it must be the spell of those blue eyes, because I do.
He slides his arms around me as we kiss, and I let him pull me closer, his hands strong against my back, holding me up like he’s promising he’d never let me fall, and from the way his lips press into mine, I’d believe it. If I can forget the past, it can be perfect.
Just one night of forgetting won’t hurt, right?
My fingers find their way to the hem of his pajama shirt and start toying with it, enjoying the way he tenses every time I brush against his skin. His abs are as firm as I remember too, if not firmer.
“Wait,” he gasps, pulling back. “Are you sure about this?”
“Don’t you want me?” I frown. Why isn’t he launching himself at me? Isn’t this what he wants?
“God, you have no idea how much. I’ve wanted you for so long. But you…”
I fix him with my best glare. “Aiden, shut up. I’m horny and I’ve forgiven you at the moment — and I want you. Right now. Unless you really don’t want to go through with it, don’t insult me by pretending you know what I want to do.”
“Protection?” he asks and I swear under my breath.
“Didn’t exactly think I’d need it, did it?” I mutter. “I wouldn’t want this to become a scandal.”
He takes a breath and gives me a curious look. “What century do you live in? People don’t marry because they’re pregnant anymore.”
“You’d be surprised,” I say, my frown deepening. I can see the headlines now, and none of them are flattering for me.
He pauses to look at me, then slides out of bed, letting me see the way his hardness tents his pajama bottoms. A hot thrill bursts inside me, making me throb with desire. “Good job I always bring spare.”
“Womanizer,” I tease, watching him intently as he dashes to the bathroom to rifle through his toiletry bag.
“I only have eyes for one woman, thank you very much,” he says as he strides back over.
My face grows hot from the compliment. I wish he’d stop doing that. It makes it all too real. So I don’t have to answer, I crawl over the bed and grab him to kiss him again.
He sinks down, pushing me back onto the bed, his body pressing against mine. I fumble with his shirt again, this time managing to drag it up his chest so I can get a look at his well-built torso. Nearly a decade has changed him, but he’s still firm and delightful to look at, and as he wrestles his top off, I let my fingers drift over his muscles, mapping them under my fingerprints.
Clearly his patience is running thin too, because this time when he leans down to kiss me, it’s harder, more urgent, like if our lips don’t meet now, we’re never going to do this again. I can’t think about the future now, though. All I care about is his body and satisfying the heat that’s burning between my legs.
