Page 81 of The Heiress's First Date

About what it’d be like to kiss me. Awareness skitters up my spine, and heat scorches over my shoulders. I rock forward on my toes, closing the distance between us.

We’re almost equally matched in height, with him just an inch or so shorter. I’ve never noticed the difference until now. He always seems so much larger than life.

It’s my turn to take him in. Slowly. Thoroughly. The broad expanse of finely honed muscle, shoulders I want to sling an arm around. But it always comes back to his lips.

He’s unnaturally good-looking, which is probably why my threat radar sounded loudly the moment he showed up in the Hamptons. And there was a little bit of interest in his kiss, too, if I’m honest. The way he laid it on Katherine. It looks like he kisses with his whole body. Every ounce of him, melding and merging, pouring into his partner.

There’s a rough edge to him that’s delightfully different from the people I know. The people I’ve been with, men or women.

He masks it well, of course, under all that impeccable breeding and effervescent charm.

That turbulence must be what drives him to climb light poles and leap off buildings.

He mentioned getting together with friends that morning. But I haven’t had time or brain power to see if he posted anything online. “How’d your photoshoot go?”

He shrugs, and my focus zeroes in on all that shoulder muscle. Stacked. Carved. Curved beneath his shirt.

My fingers twitch against my thigh, wanting to trace that trap, learn the shape of his deltoid. Fuck. He’s a work of art, and it sends my brain into an anatomy-addled spiral.

“Good. Got some usable shots. Didn’t break anything.”

I glance down at his hands, hanging loosely at his sides. Does he injure himself often? He must. He’s a daredevil in disguise.

“I’m glad.”

“You are?”

I nod. “Of course.” I reach up, cupping the side of his neck. “Need you in fighting shape when Katherine gets back.”

He swallows, all the tight muscles in his neck rippling beneath my palm. Then, as if he needs to steady himself, he rests a hand on my waist. I hate the fabric separating our skin. Why don’t I walk around shirtless more often?

“Is that the only reason?”

I’m not Mr. Read-Between-The-Lines, but even I hear all the queries beneath that question mark.

“No.” I shake my head, closing the distance between us. I’m not going to elaborate when what I really want is to give us what we’ve both been looking forward to.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and his hand comes up between us, right over my heart. Anticipation crackles as I ease forward. His lashes lower, and my lust ratchets higher.

And then, just as his breath feathers against my lips, his fingers press into my chest, pushing me back. “We can’t.”

31

KINGSTON/GABE

Gabe rocks back on his heels, taking those kissable lips with him. The lust in his eyes cools as he nods slowly.

My heart aches, there’s a sharp pinch in my chest, and I want to call my words back. Tell him we absolutelycankiss. But that’s the hormones talking.

“You’re right,” he says.

His lips twist, and his jaw clenches and releases, a sure sign that those words were hard to admit.

My shoulders drop a fraction, relieved that he understands and that we’re on the same page. Even if this isn’t the page we want to be on.

“It’s not that I don’t want this.” I wave a finger between us. “But I came back forKatherine.”

Another nod.

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