Page 59 of Every Broken Piece
Her deep breaths come faster. Like a kitten, she rubs her cheek against my pec, and it takes everything in me not to lift my hips and press into her. She snuggles deeper into my embrace, tucking her good arm between us.
Slowly she raises her head, resting her chin on my chest to blink up at me with clouded, sleepy eyes.
Red lines crease her cheek. Her braid is coming undone, the long rope of it draped over my forearm.
I tip my chin down until our lips are close to touching but aren’t quite there. Her breath catches. Mine is completely absent. Slowly her lids lower to my mouth, the delicate sweep of her lashes hiding what she’s thinking.
“Tess.” I breathe her name.
Her lashes rise and my mind goes blank. I don’t consider that she’s half-asleep when she’s staring at me with a look that telegraphs her need to be kissed. I don’t believe that kissing her is wrong, because how can it be wrong when it feels so right?
I don’t think at all. I act.
I don’t take. I give.
Our lips brush against each other. I pull back, giving her the chance to tell me to go to hell.
She lifts her chin and cranes her neck forward, her mouth seeking mine.
Now she’s giving, but so am I. I’m not ready to define whatever the hell’s going on between us, but I’ll give this. I’ll show her that I want her, that I need to taste her, breathe in her breaths until they’re mine.
I’ve never in my life given a hesitant kiss until now.
She’s like a timid kitten exploring something new and I don’t want to startle her. I allow her exploration, keeping as still as I can when what I really want to do is roll her under me and devour her.
I have to remind myself that she’s injured, broken.
Your fucking employee.
No. Not anymore. But she is injured and she just experienced a traumatic event. Damn my conscious. My head falls back, breaking our contact. She pulls her hand from between us and shifts, causing me to wince at our whole-body contact.
“Sorry.” She wiggles against me, forcing me to grab onto her hips to shift her to the side before we have a bigger problem than what we already do.
She slides her feet to the floor and stands, throwing her injured arm out when she stumbles. I jack-knife up to catch her, but she rights herself and takes a hurried back.
Cold now without her warmth draped over me, I swing my legs around so I’m sitting on the edge of the cushion and rub my hands down my face.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.”
“I’m not.” I should apologize for kissing her, but I won’t because I don’t regret it, especially seeing her reddened lips and knowing I did that to her. To keep from pulling her onto my lap so I can kiss her again, I concentrate on practical things, like her pain. “You should take your meds.”
“No pain meds.” She moves away, her good hand fluttering in agitation.
“If you’re hurting it’s okay to take your meds.”
She starts pulling dead leaves from her plants. No longer relaxed, she’s all jerky movements and tense shoulders. “You don’t have to stay.”
I sigh. This argument is becoming old. I want to move beyond it, but she seems stuck in this mind fuck of wanting me gonewhen her eyes telegraph her very real fear. And that kiss sure as fuck didn’t say get the hell out. “I’m staying.”
She spins to face me, her hand full of yellowed leaves. “What if I promise not to leave my apartment?”
“You think you can’t fall down in your apartment?”
Her expression turns stubborn. My frustration rises because what I really want is her snuggled in next to me, but she’s determined to rehash this conversation. “If you really want me to go, I will. But you need someone with you.”
She crumples the dead leaves. “I’ll call Conor. He’ll stay with me.”
“Like hell you will.” I surge off the couch.
