Page 75 of Wicked Love

His eyes flare slightly. “Why?”

I laugh nervously. “I don’t know. You’re here. That kiss. Everything.” I gesture vaguely, my hands flailing a little.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You’re nervous?”

“Obviously.”

“Don’t be.”

He crosses the space between us, his hand brushing mine. My pulse picks up as our eyes lock.

“Bowie…”

His hand reaches out and takes mine, and our fingers weave together. I sigh. This man. I can’t make heads or tails of him, but most of the time, I sure like trying.

“Clearly, I suck at all of this,” he says. “I say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing…at the wrong time.”

“It’s a good thing you’re cute,” I interject, and thankfully, it makes him laugh.

“You’re the cute one,” he says. “I…have felt bad about the way I handled everything after our night together.” He makes a face. “And I know I made it even more confusing by kissing you…”

With his free hand, he pulls his hair back in his fist and I watch it fall back into place when he lets it go. I squeeze his hand and he swallows hard.

“It’s just that, with you, I want—” He pauses and I try to wait patiently, but I’m dying here.

“You want?”

“I want…more. I can’t stop thinking about you.” He takes a step closer and my stomach does another flip.

Now. You should tell him now, I think.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” I say instead.

“I don’t do relationships.”

Things inside me halt. “I know, you’ve kind of made that clear.”

“But you make me think I do…want to.”

My mouth parts. “I do?”

He nods.

I step forward this time, and my chest brushes against his. He’s still holding my hand and he pulls our hands up, leaning them against his chest. His other hand lands on my waist and I put mine on his, feeling the warmth of his body through his shirt. His muscles are taut. I have the fleeting thought that he’s nervous, and everything about that warms me.

It would be a good time to tell him, but I’m enjoying this moment too much. And when he leans in and kisses me and it’s just as electric as before, but slower, deeper…sweeter…I lose myself in him. He pulls me closer and I melt into him, wrapping my arms around his neck. Time blurs as we kiss and kiss, the urgent give-and-take building into an inferno.

He pulls away, our chests rising and falling.

“Do you think about that night?” he asks roughly, kissing his way down my neck.

“All the time.” For more reasons than he realizes. I swallow back my guilt and focus on his touch.

“Me too,” he says.

I arch into him when his hand cups over my breast and gasp when I feel how hard he is.

“Bowie,” I whimper.

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