Page 45 of All We Need

The stubborn thing just glowers at me.

That’s whenIspot her jeans, soaked through up to her knees with clumps of snow sticking to her shoes.Concernreplaces my anger andIscan her over. “Isthat what happened?Didyour car go off the road?Areyou okay?”

The fight ebbs out of her posture at my anxious tone. “I’mfine.”Hergaze lowers and she chews her lip. “Mytires got stuck in the snow.Ididn’t have to walk far, don’t worry.”

“Well, too late for that.Iam.”Gently,Igrip her arm and steer her toward the fire.Thisclose,Isee her hair is dripping and cheeks are bright red from the cold. “Sitand warm up.Takethose jeans off too.”

“Nice try,” she mumbles but doesn’t pull away.

I move to the small chest of drawers, grab a pair of sweats, and toss them to her.

“I have my own clothes.”

Sighing,Irub at my eyes with the heels of my hands. “Wearthem.Don’twear them.Justget out of those wet clothes.”Myhead flops forward in defeat. “Please.”

Her frown melts away.Shefiddles with the drawstring on the sweats and then does something really weird.

“Thank you,Booth.”

Then surprise strikes twice when a soft smile graces her lips.

Gratitude and a smile.AmIin the twilight zone?

I don’t like what the tilt of her rosy lips does to me.Howsmile lines crease the flawless skin on her cheeks.It’ssubtle and all in her eyes.Theyglisten with the embers of the fire, making everything else appear dull and lifeless in comparison.

I don’t likeitbecause it makes me want tolikeher.Makesme wish we met under different circumstances.

Throwing a thumb over my shoulder,Iback up toward the kitchen. “I’llgive you some privacy.”

With her distracted,Iquickly hide myLEGOsthen stir the pot of risotto and pretendIdon’t hear the teeth of her zipper or the sound of wet jeans hitting the floor with a slap.Icertainly don’t imagine my sweats gliding up her long legs or kissing the dip of her waist either.

The pad of bare feet nears closer.

“It smells good.Whatare you making?” she asks softly.

“Fennel and lemon risotto.There’splenty to go around.”Itwist to look at her.Andshit.Thisis not good.She’srolled up the waistband of the sweats and has stripped off all her layers to reveal a faded grayPrincetonT-shirt.

She’s a little less put together, with flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and wild hair.Oneword: breathtaking.

“You hungry?”Myvoice cracks andIcough into my fist to hide it.

Her nose twitches as she eyes the simmering pot. “Icould eat.”

“Wine?”

“Please.”

I nod once.

Twenty minutes and some shavedParmigianoReggianolater, we settle in front of the fire, each with a hearty bowl of piping hot risotto.

We’re silent, uncertain about how to navigate this.

Until she takes her first bite and moans around her spoon.

The sound goes straight to my dick.

I push it to the back of my brain.

---