Page 12 of Melting the Grump
She doesn't look away. "To belong somewhere. To matter to a place the way this town matters to you."
Without conscious thought, I find my hand moving to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. Her skin is warm beneath my fingertips, soft in a way that makes my throat go dry. She leans into the touch, almost imperceptibly, and the small movement ignites something in my chest.
"Scott," she whispers, my name both a question and something more.
The stove pops loudly, breaking the moment. I withdraw my hand, suddenly aware of how far I've strayed from the professional distance I intended to maintain. But Abigail's gaze holds mine, unwavering, reflecting firelight and something that looks dangerously like desire.
"I think the storm's letting up," I say, my voice rougher than usual.
She glances toward the window, where the swirling white has indeed lessened in intensity. "So it is."
Neither of us moves.
Chapter 5 – Abigail
"Scott," I whisper, my voice barely audible above the crackling fire.
He doesn't answer with words. Instead, his hand rises again, cupping my cheek fully, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone with exquisite care. The roughness of his palm against my skin sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cold.
I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed for a heartbeat. When I open them, his face is closer, the flecks of darker blue in his irises visible in the golden firelight.
"We shouldn't," he murmurs, even as his other hand finds my waist, drawing me imperceptibly closer.
"Why not?" I challenge softly, my heart racing so wildly I'm certain he must hear it.
"Because you're making me forget every reason I had to keep my distance."
I reach up, threading my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, reveling in its softness against my skin.
"Good," I breathe, and close the final distance between us.
The first brush of his lips against mine is tentative, questioning, a whisper of contact that nonetheless sends electricity coursing through my veins. His lips are softer than I expected, warm and slightly chapped from the cold.
Then, as if a dam has broken, the gentleness gives way to hunger. His mouth claims mine fully, hot and insistent, his lips parting mine with deliberate pressure. A low groan rumbles from hischest as his arms encircle me completely, one hand sliding up my back to cradle my head, fingers tangling in my hair.
I respond with the same fervor, opening to him, my tongue meeting his. My fingers tighten in his hair, drawing a deeper growl that vibrates against my lips.
The kiss deepens, becoming messy, desperate. His teeth graze my bottom lip, tugging gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. I gasp into his mouth, my body arching instinctively toward his, seeking closer contact. The blanket slips from my shoulders, but I barely notice the chill.
Suddenly we're moving. Scott rises to his knees, lifting me with him without breaking our kiss. In a fluid motion he presses me against the rough wooden wall of the barn, his body pinning mine with delicious pressure. The contrast of cold wood at my back and his heat against my front sends shivers across my skin.
"Abigail," he breathes against my neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive column of my throat. His breath is hot against my skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. "I've wanted this since I first saw you in that meeting room."
"Even while you were arguing with me?" I gasp as his teeth graze my pulse point, the sharp sensation followed by the wet heat of his tongue. My head falls back against the wall, giving him better access.
"Especially then," he admits, his voice husky with desire. "You were so goddamn passionate about everything."
His hands slide beneath my cardigan, fingertips tracing the curve of my waist, the swell of my ribs, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I arch into his touch, hungry for more, my own hands exploring the broad expanse of his shoulders.
I can feel the heat of him through the fabric, the firm muscle underneath, the steady thud of his heartbeat matching the frantic pace of my own. His mouth reclaims mine, his kiss deeper now, more demanding, as if he's trying to consume me from the outside in. The wooden wall creaks as he presses me harder against it, his hips aligning with mine in a way that draws a moan from deep in my throat.
With trembling fingers, I tug at the hem of his shirt, needing to feel skin against skin. He helps me, breaking our kiss just long enough to pull the fabric over his head and toss it aside. A dusting of dark hair covers his chest, narrowing to a trail that disappears beneath his jeans.
"Your turn," he murmurs, eyes darkening as his fingers find the buttons of my cardigan.
He undoes them slowly, deliberately, his gaze never leaving mine. The first button reveals the hollow of my throat, which he immediately bends to kiss, his tongue dipping into the sensitive depression. The second exposes the curve of my breasts above my bra, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him and a rush of heat to my core.
By the time he reaches the last button, I'm trembling with need, my skin hypersensitive to every touch. When the cardigan finally falls open, revealing my simple cotton bra, his sharp intake of breath is the sweetest form of appreciation. His eyes darken further, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of blue remains.
