Page 65 of Kissing Her Rescuer

“Is Carrie still asleep?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I hate waking her up early when I don't have to.” She looked over her shoulder. “I'm guessing she'll be up around eight.”

Forty-five minutes. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” She stepped back. Dewey closed the door and waited on her to lead the way into the living room. The sofa elicited too many spectacular mental images, so he sat in the winged-back chair.

She curled up in the corner of the sofa, her feet tucked underneath her. It sounded like a cheesy greeting card, but her beauty literally took his breath away. Knowing what an incredible mom she was only added to it.

And according to Cameron, she worried he didn't want a future with her?

“Eliza,” he said her name softly, watching her face for any type of expression or clue. “Is Carrie in her own bed?”

A small flicker of her left eyebrow was the only indication that she had any idea what his question implied. And she could have lied. They both knew that.

“Yes.”

He half-smiled. It was the best he could do, considering the possibility of being alone with her. “Can I take you back to bed?”

Her mouth parted, and a tiny squeak escaped as she nodded.

In two steps, he'd made it to the sofa, picked her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist.

His lips pressed along the column of her throat as he climbed the stairs. “If you'd let me take you to bed every day this way, I'd die happy.”

“That sounds like a country music song.”

He grazed his teeth along her earlobe. “Do you want me to sing to you?”

She started to laugh, but it came out a snort, and she hid her face as they passed Carrie's room, the door slightly ajar. He'd wanted to take his time with Eliza, but with the ticking bomb of Carrie waking up, he didn't have the luxury.

But he treasured the few moments they did have. He smiled to himself. He had started to sound like a cheesy country song.

He closed the door with a quiet click. Then locked it. They could come up with some sort of excuse for Carrie if necessary. But they couldn’t do that if she busted in and saw things she shouldn’t.

Eliza slipped out of his arms, her hands busy at untucking his T-shirt from his khaki shorts. “You know, I’d resolved myself to the reality that we probably shouldn’t have sex again.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good decision at all.” He pulled her tank top up and over her head. His hand skimmed across her breast. He didn’t care what had changed her mind.

She tugged his shirt off next. Her soft hands ran from his chest to his belt buckle. “I’m not sure what I was thinking.”

“Hold on a sec,” he mumbled, cupping her face in his hands. He leaned down, kissing her the long, slow way he’d dreamed about all night.

Eliza stepped away, tugging him by his belt to the edge of the bed. “This is really sexy. But—” she pointed to the clock on the table beside her bed “—if you want anything to happen…”

He chuckled, reached in his back pocket, and tossed a condom on the bed. “Do you mind if I handle that this time?”

She pushed him down on the bed and crawled onto his lap. “You handle that, and I’ll handle everything else.”

21

“C'mon, Daddy, you can smile a little better than that.” Eliza held up her camera, hoping to get at least one decent shot of her dad holding hands with Ms. Iris. After the past thirty minutes, her hopes were dying. Fast.

Ms. Iris didn't seem phased. “Oh, honey, don't worry about it.” She kissed his cheek. Instead of a smile, his expression remained a little sour, although his neck and cheeks turned a cute shade of pink.

She held up the camera again, only to drop it back to her side. “What is your problem?”

He cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “I feel as though all of this is a bunch of nonsense.”

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