Page 58 of Lost Love on 6th Street

Aw fuck it. Idiotic gentlemen don’t hurry moments, but fake cowgirls do. I close the small gap between our lips and in a split second, we’re kissing.

We’re kissing.

Luke’s lips are insistent, pressing against mine with a need that has been building for a long time. I can only imagine I’m kissing him with the same intensity. I’ve never had a kiss this explosive and chaste at once. Tongues aren’t rolling, we’re not tangled up in bed, and yet I feel hot all over. Pretty sure it’s not just the fire doing that.

Luke’s lips part from mine, but he remains in my space, breathing into my mouth. “You’re full of surprises, Eleanor.”

Enough talking. I’ve been talking and thinking for ages now. Give me more.

I loop my arms around his neck and kiss him again, this time delving my tongue between his lips. Luke inhales sharply through his nose in surprise, but he doesn’t dare draw away. As I thread my fingers through his soft locks, he slides a hand around my waist, pulling me as close as the bench will allow without us making a complete scene.

He grabs my hat off my head and tosses it aside, then fingers my curls intensely, palm stretching out against the back of my head.

I’m flushed everywhere. And though I have wanted him for his kindness and charm for weeks now, I first wanted him with my body.

The throbbing between my legs is not going to let me forget about that any time soon.

“Woo! That’s right!” someone cheers and I realize when they “Woo!” again, they’re directing their cheering at us.

I draw away first, blinking my eyes open and realizing my glasses are fogged up.

Luke might not have glasses, but his gaze is fogged over too. I don’t think he even noticed that someone was flinging jeering in our direction.

Once I clear off my lenses, I look in the direction of the patio.

There’s Dave. Rooting us on, holding another glass of whatever he’s been drinking.

I shake my head. What a weirdo.

“Should we go?” Luke asks low in my ear.

I snatch another short kiss from him. “Yeah, let’s go.”

* * *

The drive back to my apartment is quiet except for the radio. We’ve been in this car so many times, but the air has never been this charged. The potential has always lingered, but now it is mutually agreed upon. The stage has been set. What comes next is up to both of us to create.

My heart pounds as Luke pulls the car over and he murmurs, “Let me walk you to the door.” I’ve done this song and dance before. Sure, he can walk me up to the door and then walk me in the door, then into my apartment, then into my bedroom . . .

I don’t usually move so fast with someone, but hell, we’ve built a relationship. It’s not like we’re strangers who met tonight and are going to go down in a blaze of glory.

It will mean something.

Luke opens my door for me, takes my hand to help me out, and doesn’t let go. We cross the street hand in hand, up the stairs to my door, and then . . .

“You’re right, dancing was fun,” I say as I root through my bag for my keys.

“Oh, I’m glad it wasn’t too torturous for you.”

I glance at him. Luke is leaned up against the door frame. Quintessential cowboy.

“Where are my keys?” I ask myself aloud, feeling self-conscious he’s standing there watching me.

Suddenly, he pushes me up against the door, right next to the call box. Body on body. There is hunger in his eyes. A hunger I would like to sate.

Luke drags his thumb along my jaw to my chin. “Man, you’re beautiful.”

“Oh. Thanks,” I say. What an idiotic thing to say.

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