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Was he just going to leave me out here?
Cold, I swing my legs over the edge of the cushion and run my hands over my arms. The bathroom door opens, but I don’t look up. I know it was stupid of me to mope tonight, wondering where he was. I don’t want to chance that he can see that on my face, so I rub my hands over my face and then lean over to pick up my book. He approaches me, but I try not to look.
When I do, when I have nothing to do but get up, I tip my head back to meet his gaze. He’s been home long enough to change clothes. Instead of the jeans he had on at dinner, he’s wearing sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. The sweats are a little snug in certain places and try as I might to tell myself not to, I notice. And I do a double take. Before I can embarrass myself further, I stand. But Gideon’s standing so close to me, I almost have to bend backwards.
“I was gonna wake you up.” His voice is gruff. “You looked cold.”
Aware that my nipples are hard now because yes, I am cold, and because yes, I’m standing way too close to him, I fold my arms over my chest and nod.
“I was.”
We hold the eye contact. I want to ask him where he went. If Wamba is okay, even though I don’t know the man. If he believes in love, because everybody believes in something, right? And if he feels bad for Wamba for losing his wife, then maybe that means he gets it. Love. The concept of love.
Geez, Skye, you’ve been around him for a week. You just decided you might have a crush on him, and now you’re wondering if he believes in love?
His stare is so intense, it’s like he’s looking right through me, seeing every thought I’m trying to hide. In the shadows, it’s easy to pretend he’s watching me like this because he likes what he sees. Because he wants the same things I do.
I open my mouth to tell him thanks again for dinner. Maybe goodnight.
“Where’d you go?” My whisper is thick with longing. I see in the way his eyes sweep over my face and my shoulders that he heard it too.
“Drove around,” he says simply. “Stopped at some hole in the wall bar and had a shot of whiskey.”
I nod. “Did it help?”
I don’t know what I’m asking. He seems troubled, the groove in his forehead going from intense to worried, and I wonder briefly if it’s something about his friend. About Wamba.
“No.”
What do I say to that? No clue, since I don’t know what I asked about or why I asked. And I don’t know what he was chasing away with his shot of whiskey. I should say goodnight. Put an end to this awkward moment.
“Goodnight.”
He says it first, and I’m disappointed and relieved. I nod and repeat the same to him, but when I move to step around him, he moves, too, and I bump into him. He’s hot—his skin is flushed, and he’s hard against my belly. The knowledge that he wants something else right now goes straight to my head like my own shot of whiskey, and I’m a little bit drunk on the moment.
“Skye.”
He moves slowly, skates his fingers over my upper arm. The soft touch paralyzes me. Hungry for more, but afraid to move and break the moment, the feeling, I watch him and wait.
When he leans over and bends his knees, I meet him halfway, and we’re kissing. His lips are warm like the rest of him. I taste the liquor there, and he breathes it over my parted lips. Middles pressed together, his fingers still pressed lightly to my arm, we kiss again. Soft, cautious. Nothing sexy, but this is the most intimate kiss I’ve ever had.
Our eyes are open, still, locked, as we brush lips. I love the gentle pressure of his mouth on mine. The anticipation building in my belly and my chest grows so big and so bold, I’m breathless and dizzy, and I reach for him to hold on. I connect with his t-shirt and dig my fingers in for a fistful.
Lost in his heat, my eyes close, and then, Gideon slides his hand over my shoulder and cups the back of my neck. With a soft tug, he pulls my head back, and I open my eyes, a little startled and so turned on, I’m on fire. He puts his mouth on mine again, but this time, he kisses me with his tongue. He licks my lips like they’re sugar, and then he dips his tongue inside my mouth and strokes mine.
We move again, pushing harder, closer together, my arms slung over his shoulders. Even now, kissing him feels more intimate than sexy. We’re still moving slowly, getting to know each other. He holds my head still and drinks from me like it’s a slow, southern afternoon, and he’s sipping tea to quench his thirst. Gentle and curious and reverent. It’s more than I ever thought would happen between us, but kissing like this will never be enough now that I’ve tasted him.
He stops suddenly. Lets go of my neck and slides his hand back over my shoulder. He hesitates there, and my nipples ache for his touch. Eyes locked again, he turns his hand and rubs my lips with his thumb.
“Goodnight.”
Dumbfounded by the kiss, by how delectable his lips and his tongue taste, by the abrupt way he ended it, I stare at him silently as he backs away from me. I can’t find my voice until he’s at his bedroom door, and even then I speak so quietly, I’m not sure he heard me say goodnight.
He closes the door and leaves me standing there with lust and regret at war inside me. I didn’t even get a chance to tangle my fingers in his hair or touch the scruff on his cheeks.
