Page 62 of Just One Look
“I had … daydreams about you. Romantic ones. Sexual ones, too. When I met you, I thought you were …” His lips were still at her neck, and she was sighing. “The most manly, the … I can’t even say.”
“I wasn’t,” he said, “not then. I may be closer now, though.” He was kissing her mouth again, because that mouth was just bloody delicious.
Footsteps nearby. Laughter. He felt her pulling away, and he let her go.
“Get a room, bro,” a kid called.
He ignored it, but she didn’t. She said, “I should go.” Her hand was still at the back of his neck, and she seemed to realize it, because she took it away.
“I don’t need sleep that much,” he said.
“I have to talk to Piper. And I have to go.” With that, she climbed into the car and closed the door.
He didn’t wait for sex. He didn’t need to. And this was too complicated. Too … entangled. In their families, and in their pasts.
He should call Mona. He should call Francesca. Or just stop saying no, stop pulling back. All this need had to be coming from these months of pointless deprivation. How could you need, seriouslyneed,to kiss a woman’s neck this much, otherwise? How could you burn to watch her eyes close? At thirty-three?
Another week. He’d give it another week, until he left on that road trip, and see what happened.
After that, though? He was done.
Absolutely.
