Page 67 of The Geography of Happiness

I tugged his shirt free of his jeans so I could slide my hands around the hot skin of his waist and then up his back, my fingertips tracing every bump and groove along his spine before following the smooth contours of his shoulders that bore just a light dusting of hair.

Terry gasped, yanking me closer and plunging his tongue deep into my mouth. “Oh, god.” He breathed the words against my lips, then leaned back to look at me, desperate, breathless, and so fucking hot, his stormy eyes dark and needy and... uncertain.

Shit.I stilled my hands and drew a breath, and he did the same. Then he cradled my face and pulled my head down to place a kiss on my forehead.

“I, ah—” He hesitated and I heard all the cogs spinning in his brain, stirring havoc. All the warning bells, all the shoulds and shouldn’ts and what-ifs. I heard every one because they were the same ones screaming in mine. He looked me in the eye. “I should check on Hannah, and... ah... it’s late... like you said. And we’re both tired. Neither of us is thinking straight.”

I wanted to argue but instead I simply nodded.

He kissed my forehead again. “Thank you... for everything. Good night.”

And then he was gone, and I slumped against the pantry door and cursed my idiotic brain for daring to imagine in a million years that kissing and wanting Terry would ever end in any other way.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Terry

I pushedthe bedroom door closed and leaned against it, still catching my breath. Hannah hadn’t moved since I’d left her, her chest rising and falling in quiet sleep, the room lit by a soft nightlight beside her bed.

Gabby had left her mat on the floor to sprawl lengthways beside Hannah on the queen bed, the two of them sharing a pillow. With a few soft thumps of her tail, the retriever let me know she’d heard me enter but quickly settled again.

I stood where I was for a moment, trying to get some oxygen circulating in my brain and wrangling my defiant dick into submission because, holy fuck, what the hell had just happened in that kitchen?

I adjusted myself—reeling at the fact I even needed to because, hello, slow starter here—and took a few calming breaths. Nothing to worry about. It had been an emotional day was all. I was strung out about... well, everything... including Spencer. Spencer who’d stepped up, fed me, listened to my ramblings, and... cared about me.

And then, of course, he’d kissed me. Well, technically, I’d kissed him, but the man had put his lipsrightthere, so I wasn’t shouldering all the blame.

And damn, what a kiss.

I could’ve pulled away.

Ishouldhave.

Hannah was just down the hall, for fuck’s sake.

But I didn’t.

Spencer was food to a starving man.Thisstarving man.

His desire, his electric touch, his delight... inmewas a fucking revelation. Which was crazy. I’d been kissed before, many times, but none of them held a candle to Spencer. That one kiss in the kitchen was the most erotic encounter of my entire life.

The second his mouth touched mine, I sizzled—every cell in my body zinging on high alert. The sensual glide of his lips, the hungry press of his tongue seeking entrance, the eager plunge when I finally opened for him, the groan of satisfaction as he pinned me against the pantry door, his hands trailing fire over my skin, his body wrapped around me like he thought I might run.

And I had.Goddammit. I’d fucking run... again.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I hadn’t been touched by another person in so damn long, I couldn’t even remember the last time, and it felt so fucking good.

Too good.

Spencer lit a fire inside me that I hadn’t felt... maybe ever. I’d never been that guy and I’d been okay with that for... well, most of my damn life. When Judah came along, I’d wondered if that was changing, because Ididnotice him. Ididwant and desire him. I ached for something physical between us. But when Judah and Morgan got together, I’d quickly settled back intothe familiar neutral tone that always seemed to characterise my romantic life, or lack of one. Lonely, but not needy.

Hannah stirred in her sleep, lifting up on one elbow to peer into the dimly lit room. “Daddy?”

“I’m here, sweetheart.” I crept over and crouched beside her bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay, I guess. My head hurts a little.” She repositioned her pillow. “My knee too.”

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