Page 32 of Right With You
We cleared the table together, and though she refused to let me rinse dishes, she did let me help load her dishwasher.
Our hands brushed, and I counted each one.One, two,a slow slide of fingers as we passed off plates.Three, four, a delicious graze when I brushed past her to rinse a bowl.
And then it happened.
Those eyes drew me in and seemed to ask a question. They seemed to say, will you stop what you’re doing and look at me? And I did. I paused my movement when we were face to face and just shy of bodies meeting in the small space of her kitchen. I dipped my head down and her chin tipped up so our gazes locked yet again and she breathed out slowly.
“Are we going to practice kissing?” Her words came out in a rushed sound slightly more than a whisper.
It was all I could do to keep from closing my eyes against the crush of wanting, against the assumption that this was an invitation, but I did. Because her pupils were a bit wider than they should’ve been, and even though she seemed to welcome contact, we couldn’tstartat a kiss.
I abandoned the bowl in my hand to the counter and set my palm next to her hip. Not caging her in but steadying myself and giving me a gauge for the space between us. Drawn to her, I resisted connecting us from thigh to chest and gritted out a sentence I didn’t like admitting.
“I don’t think it’s time quite yet.” What I wouldn’t say?I don’t think I can handle it.
It couldn’t be spoken, nor did I want to look the truth in the face. If we did kiss—whenwe did—I needed to be ready.
Her lashes fluttered and the dip between her brows formed. “I’m sorry, I?—”
I took her chin in my hand, my touch soft but demanding. “I want to kiss you, Elise. Very much. But I will not do so until you tell me to.”
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Elise
My entire body liquified.
Honestly, it was miraculous that I didn’t launch myself at him and kiss him right then and there. But the gentleness couching his words stopped me. Yes, it was sexy as all get out of him to say such a thing in the first place, but it was… thoughtful. The polar opposite of what his grandfather had accused him of being.
“Okay,” I managed, holding his gaze and summoning all the courage I knew existed in me. The planes of his face were stunning, and at this range I could see, not nearly as perfect as I’d thought. Somehow, the small scar in his left eyebrow and the freckle inside his right iris made him even more appealing.
His head dipped ever so slightly, and I exhaled slowly as he backed away, moving all the way into the living room and taking a seat on the couch.
“Do you want popcorn?” Because we had to fill the space with something other than the sheerwantingstill coursing through me.
“Bien sûr, thank you,” he said, and even though I wasn’t certain of the meaning, his inflection told me he meant yes.
But also, maybe he wasn’t gentle and thoughtful? Because if he were, he wouldn’t have spoken French just now. He wouldn’t have held up a lighter to the already singed parts of me.
In a few minutes, I settled in next to him, our elbows brushing and highlighting just how small my couch—realistically more of a love seat—was. I didn’t often host here because the space was cramped, and almost everyone else lived in houses with larger living rooms. Lately, the most time I’d spent with friends had been in the All Booked Up reading room, and I was just fine with that because it was delightful.
I’d left him to make a selection, and, to my surprise, he’d chosenThe Proposal, a movie about a fake engagement destined for a marriage of convenience.
A bit on the nose there, sir.
I didn’t make the point because we weren’t getting married. In a matter of weeks, once his family had come and gone, this would all be over.
This thought settled like a thorn in my chest, but I pushed it away. I’d anticipated an action film or maybe something dramatic and sweeping, but here we were watching Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds fall in love in the gorgeous setting of a small Alaskan town.
After their kiss in front of his family, which went from fake to real in a delicious moment of unexpected tension, my stomach flipped at the thought of kissing Luc.
“Perhaps we should try something,” he suggested, resting his large hand palm-up on his thigh.
My heart thudded in my chest, but it wasn’t dread or anxiety. It was desire pumping through me, and I let myself enjoy it. Not that it was so rare with him, but in the reality of my life, I hadn’t wanted to touch a man in a long time. I simply hadn’t. And every time I felt pleasure or anticipation at contact with Luc, it felt a little like magic. Like a small miracle.
I slipped my hand into his, my entire being lighting up at the contact of our fingers lacing, my palm resting against his large, warm one.
A simple touch, yet so much more.
