Page 55 of Collide
The kettle sings.
Ugh. I squirm in frustration.
Alex exhales a quiet laugh, stepping back to pour the water into two mugs, the moment between us briefly severed.
There’s something incredibly sexy about watching him make us tea.
Shirtless.
My eyes catch on his strong forearms, the veins along them, those large hands. I gulp, wondering how they might feel all overme. I take my time, tracing every inch of him, tucking it away for later.
“You know,” he starts, glancing over at me, “I think now is the perfect time to cash in on my prize.”
That again. I was hoping he’d forgotten.
“What prize?” I tease, swinging my legs lightly from the counter.
He gives me a look. That slow, wicked smile. “The one I won fair and square.”
I roll my eyes. “You cheated.”
He chuckles, leaning against the counter, his gaze dark with mischief. “I played to win.”
I exhale, shaking my head. “Alright, fine. What do you want?”
His smirk deepens, but when he speaks, his voice turns sincere, quieter.
“I want you to sing for me.”
What?
Out of all the things I expected, this wasn’t one of them. It catches me completely off guard.
“Just for me,” he adds, his expression unreadable.
My insides somersault.
I hesitate, fidgeting slightly. “You want me to serenade you?”
He nods. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
His voice is steady, but there’s something else beneath it. Something that makes my breath shallow and my pulse uneven.
This is more tender than a kiss.
More exposing than touch.
I glance at him.
Alex watches me, his expression unreadable as I take a steadying breath.
Singing for an audience doesn’t faze me, but this? Singing for one person—for him—feels precariously intimate.
His lips twitch as if sensing my hesitation. “Come on, let’s get comfortable.” He grabs our mugs of tea, nodding toward the lounge area.
I slide off the counter, following him toward the plush couch in the dimly lit living space. The rain continues its rhythmic tapping against the window.
Alex settles onto the sofa first, setting our mugs down on the coffee table, before grabbing the shirt sitting on the armrest and putting it on. He leans back, stretching one arm across the top of the cushions, his gaze lazy but attentive.
