Page 56 of Now That It's You
“Me neither.”
His heart throbbed in his throat, and he tried to remind himself of the million and one reasons this was a terrible, horrible idea.
But all the reasons clouded together and jumbled with the singular thought of how very, very badly he wanted to kiss her again. To twine his fingers in her curls and angle her mouth toward his, to run his hand up her side and feel her hot and alive beneath his palm.
Meg’s hand slid up his arm, moving slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull back, to remind them both why they shouldn’t do this.
But it was all over the instant her fingertips grazed the back of his neck. Something primal took over, and Kyle backed her up against the wall, not sure if she pulled his face to hers or he boosted her up to meet his kiss. He didn’t care whose idea it was. He didn’t care who started it.
All he cared about was kissing Meg again.
Meg felt the moan deep in Kyle’s throat as he pressed her up against the wall and claimed her mouth with his.
I’m kissing Kyle again, she thought and wondered how she’d ended up here twice in one day after a decade of not allowing herself to even consider it.
There was less hesitation now than there’d been a few hours ago, though she wasn’t sure if that was his doing or hers. This wasn’t her ex’s funeral, and this wasn’t her ex’s brother. Not now, anyway. This was just Kyle—Kyle—kissing her in his space, on his terms, and not because he felt sorry for her, either. He wanted her, if his hands on her ass were any indication.
He cupped both cheeks and boosted her up against the wall, and Meg started to protest. “You’ll hurt your?—”
The word back got smothered as their mouths collided, and he was kissing her too hard for the protest to make a difference. She felt her legs twine around his waist by instinct. She was no hundred-pound waif. Years in the kitchen sampling her own creations had seen to that, and her boobs alone probably weighed more than half the girls he’d dated over the years.
But he didn’t seem to be struggling and hadn’t dropped dead from exertion, so Meg let herself relax as Kyle’s fingers found the hem of her T-shirt. She thought about sucking her stomach in, but who was she kidding? He’d seen her in a two-piece at least a dozen times, and he didn’t seem repulsed. Actually, he seemed to revel in her skin, his fingers skimming her curves, taking their time to savor her flesh before moving upward to get to the good stuff.
The instant his palm closed over her breast, Meg groaned against his lips. He felt so good, and it had been so long since anyone touched her like this.
Had anyone touched her like this?
She tried to remember what Matt’s hands had been like, then felt disgusted with herself for not remembering, or for trying to remember right now, in this moment, with Kyle’s big palms skimming over her nipples. She shoved Matt from her mind and ground herself into the hardness that pressed against Kyle’s fly, wanting to feel all of him at once.
His fingers slid behind her and found her bra clasp. He seemed to hesitate there, and she wondered if he was waiting for her to tell him no. If he thought she’d demand that he show her some respect or take his damn hands off her and treat her like a lady.
Meg broke the kiss and locked her eyes on his in the darkness. “Do it,” she said with a fierceness that surprised her. “Tear the fucking thing off if you have to.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He fumbled a little with the clasp, and she cursed her boobs for requiring bras with a billion little hooks and a veritable fortress of underwire. “Welcome to the word of industrial-strength bras,” she said, trying to be glib about it. “Do you need me to—oh.”
The clasp popped open and she saw the flash of his teeth as he grinned in the darkness. “Got it. I might be a slow learner, but I get there eventually.”
“Thank God,” she said as his hand closed over her bare breast.
He went back to kissing her, one hand sliding over her breasts while the other cupped her ass. Her legs and arms trembled, and she wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or the effort of keeping herself wrapped around him this way. It was hot in this hallway, but she couldn’t tell if it was them or the space. The sharp tang of copper drifted from his studio, blunted by the scent of leather and something she thought might be wood smoke or maybe just Kyle. Part of her wished she could see him, that she could know the blaze of heat in his eyes as she ground herself against him and pressed her breasts into his palm.
But part of her feared the light. Would they be doing this if they could see each other? Would they turn shy and hesitant? She wasn’t willing to find out.
She dug her nails into the back of his scalp and arched against him, loving the feel of those work-roughened hands on her skin. She did remember Matt’s hands, after all. They’d been smooth and long-fingered, but Kyle’s hands were big all over. A man’s hands with calluses and ridges. How many times over the years had she let her gaze drop to those hands, wondering what they’d feel like as a contrast to Matt’s more refined touch?
Stop thinking about Matt, dammit.
She felt Kyle tense between her legs, and worried for a second that he’d read her mind. She broke the kiss.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“No,” he said, and kissed her again. “What did you say earlier? ‘Some things are okay to stay secret.’”
“Fair enough,” she said, licking her lips. “How about I tell you what I’m thinking?”
“Does it involve my hands on your body?”
