Page 80 of Let It Breathe
She looked up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. “I know,” she murmured. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m still being a bitch to you.”
“It’s fine, Reese. It’s fine.” Clay shook his head, trying not to notice the glitter of her tears. It felt like a sucker punch to the spleen knowing he was responsible for making her cry.
Again.
He drew in a breath, struggling to do even that. Suddenly, the room felt very small.
“Don’t cry, Reese,” he said.
A stupid thing to say. She turned her face away from him, and he saw the first tear slide down her cheek.
Shit.
“Just give me a second, okay?” she whispered. “It’s just—Larissa, and all this stuff with you and?—”
He stood up, feeling awkward and stiff in his own body. The room seemed too hot. She wouldn’t look at him.
“Reese.”
He reached for her, pulling her to his chest for a comforting hug. It surprised him when she came willingly. Shocked him even more as she molded her body to his.
His breath caught in his throat as the grassy-sweet smell of her engulfed him, making his head spin like he’d just downed a fifth of Jack.
She’s so soft.
His arms circled her torso, and his hands came to rest beneath the sharp points of her shoulder blades. He slid them down a little, just a few inches, to rest in the curve of her lower back.
It’s a friendly hug, just that. Just comforting a crying woman. A friend.
Reese moved against him and the word friend ran screaming from his brain, replaced by something else. Lust, maybe.
Urgency.
Get out!
He felt himself responding to her, though his brain was still yelling at him to move away from her, to get the hell out of this kitchen.
Your best friend’s ex.
Don’t shit where you eat.
Off limits.
Reese tilted her head to look up at him, and Clay’s head spun as he looked down into those wild green eyes. His hands seemed to move on their own, sliding down her back, cupping the curve of her ass as his mouth descended and found hers.
Then he was kissing her, kissing her hard as her fingers twined in his hair and her breath pressed her breasts against his chest. Her lips were soft and tasted like cola and something else, maybe wine—he couldn’t remember, it had been so long.
He tried to pull back, but he couldn’t. Somehow, his fingers found their way into her hair, tugging it free from its knot so he could feel it cool and slippery between his fingers. He slid his lips from her mouth and began kissing his way down her chin, her throat, her chest?—
Reese gasped and drew back.
Clay swallowed, his hands stilled in her hair.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have?—”
“Stop.” She blinked at him, and he could have sworn her eyes were darker than before. Evergreen, almost. She licked her lips, and Clay felt himself grow dizzy again.
“Stop apologizing, I mean. My room,” she whispered. “Okay?”
