Page 40 of A Moment for Us
I open the door, waiting for Josh to either stop me or the girl to come out.
But there’s nothing.
No one is here.
I move a little farther in, and there, on the floor by the table area, is a book.
A book I recognize the cover of.
It’s lying face down, which is a crime to any booklover, but there is no mistaking it for anything other than the romance novel I was reading last week.
I turn, and Josh pulls the door closed, watching me the entire time.
“Find anything?”
I raise my brow. “You know I didn’t.” I grab the book. “Well, other than this.”
He smirks. “Now you see what I was hiding.”
I lean against the table. “That you like romance novels?”
“I’ve never read one until now.”
“And?”
“I see why women like them.”
“Yeah? And why is that?” I ask.
Josh steps forward, his strides long and confident as he eats up the space between us. “Because, in the book, the guy is smarter and more intuitive about what the woman wants. He’s not afraid of love. Hell, this guy wants it so bad he’s willing to do anything for her. Is that what you want, Delia?”
I shake my head. “No. I know the difference between reality and fiction.”
“I didn’t ask about reality. I asked if this is what you want.”
That’s exactly what I want. I want Josh to give in. To take what I’m offering—my heart, my love, a chance—and love me.
His nose brushes against my cheek, and I fucking hate my body for the shudder it releases. “Josh . . .”
“I can’t give you that. If there were ever a woman who could make me crave it, it would be you.”
I close my eyes as the heat of his breath warms my cheeks. “But you can’t.”
“No.” A single syllable that says a million things.
“I wish you could.”
His lips move along my jawline. “I do too.”
I want to slap his chest and demand he try. Instead, I grip his shirt, tugging him against me, and fuse my lips to his.
My plan of telling him it was over goes to shit.
After the most sexually gratifying experience of my life, I’m in his bed, proving myself to be an idiot who can’t tell the wrong guy no.
Seventh time is the charm. This was it. It has to be.
“This is the last time,” I say.
