Page 56 of London, Love, & A Little Something Irish

“I’d love to show you around,” I say, my voice low and trying to be as casual as possible.

Inwardly I’m giggling and kicking my feet.

After we finish, he takes my plate and rinses it. Before I can even register what’s happening, he reaches for my hand and pulls me up from the table.

My breath stutters. I look up at him.

He’s close. So, so close.

His hand lingers in mine, and I feel every ridge of his fingers against my skin. His jaw tightens. His other hand flexes at his side. There’s fire in his eyes, but behind it—hesitation.

Why is he holding back?

We both stand just like that for a few seconds, for what feels like an extremely long time.

He wants to kiss me. Iknowhe does. It’s in the way his gaze keeps dropping to my lips, the way his grip tightens ever so slightly around my fingers. Our gazes lock for another second.

I don’t know what’s stopping him. But I know one thing—Ican’twait any longer. I may not be the one who wants to make the first move, but I’m willing to make myselfavailablefor him to make the first move. So, I gather my courage (and really, my poor veins can’t take it any longer and want to combust), and I tilt my chin up towards him. My pulse pounds in my ears. If he wants to kiss me, he’s going to have todo it now.

And it’s all the invitation he needs.

The dam breaks.

His lips crash into mine and his hands find my waist, pulling me in. It’s all-consuming. It’s like he had fireworks pent-up inside him, and they’re all over the sky now. Sizzling heat. His mouth is hot against mine, taking everything I’m giving and giving just as much. It’s like he’s had the same wildfire burning inside him, waiting—waiting—until he just couldn’t hold back anymore.

His hand slides up, fingertips grazing my jaw as he angles my head for better access. I wrap both arms around his neck, pressing in, drinking him in. He tugs on my bottom lip with his teeth, softly nipping at it. My legs feel so much like jelly, wanting to cave in underneath me. But he’s wrapping me in his arms and holding me right up. I don’t know how long we’re there for. Minutes, hours, and not long enough.

And then?—

He slows. Begins to pull away.

Nope.Not happening.

I tug him back, and he chuckles against my lips—a deep, breathless sound that sends another wave of heat rushing through me. This time, the kiss is slower. Softer. Like we’re both memorizing every second. He begins to pull away and this time I let him. His lips trail down my jaw, his breath warm against my skin. “I was trying to be patient,” he murmurs, voice low and rough.

And that’s when it clicks. He wasn’t hesitating because he didn’twantto kiss me. He was hesitating because he was trying tohonorme. Trying to take things slow. Thinking aboutmethe entire time.

Oh.Oh.

I think I just melted even more. I’m a Nataly puddle right here. Thankfully he still has his hands on my waist and I haven’t completely morphed into the floor yet.

“Well,” I whisper, eyes still closed as he presses one last kiss to my jaw, “I don’t think I could’ve lasted much longer.”

His lips find mine one more time, a soft, lingering kiss before he pulls back.

I sigh. Happily. I’m dizzy from that mind-blowing kiss. Like I’m in a hazy dream right now.

He calls me over to the couch, his voice low and easy, so we can sit and talk. It stays light late in London this time of year, which means we have time. Time for a movie, time to sit close, and time to feel this electricity between us. I’ll take any and every excuse I can get to get close to him and snuggle up.

I settle next to him, and our arms brush, just barely. It’s not enough. I lean in just a little more, and he doesn’t move away.Good.

We talk about nothing and everything, and I love chatting with him. Then we land on TV.

“I don’t really watch much,” he says with a shrug, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

I gasp, clutching my chest like he’s just personally offended me. “What? But you’re missing out on so many good stories. Movies and shows can make youfeelsomething—they change how people think. That’s why I love them.”

“Yeah, I love movies,” he allows, his smirk deepening. “But I don’t want to spendallof my nights watching mind-numbing TV.”

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