Page 78 of Situationship
Nope. She cared to keep her feelings close to her chest. “That if we had more time, I’d want another cocktail.”
“Then let’s give the lady what she wants.” This time when his hands slid back down, they went all the way down, to her butt, then her thighs, which he parted so she was once again straddling him.
She sat up and the covers fell around them. “God, you’re beautiful.” His hands, large enough to span her waist, were slowly moving up, rib by rib. “What are you doing Saturday?”
She wasn’t the only one who’d moved beyond the past, looking to the future. Maybe even some sort of future together.
She ran her hands up his chest until she was flush against him, close enough to kiss his chin. “Are you asking me on a date, Dr. West?”
“If it were a date, I’d be asking for a hell of a lot more than an afternoon.”
Well, that was embarrassing.
She started to move off him but his hands dropped down to her butt, holding her still with a cheek-full in each palm. “For that proper date, I’d want a whole day—I was thinking of a morning out on the water, the afternoon strolling around town holding hands, and the evening in my hot tub.” He scooched her up so he could kiss the hollow of her neck. “Skinny-dipping, of course.”
“Of course.” She moved against him, and he groaned. “Then what’s Saturday?”
He grinned up at her as if he were about to tell her Santa had left her a big present downstairs. “Saturday is the next day Jack has off.”
“Who’s Jack? And I’m not sure I want him to come on our not-a-date date.”
“Jack is the guy I was telling you about, who owns a handful of commercial spaces in town,” he said, and her belly did an excited little flip.
“How did you manage to get that much information between dinner and now?”
“Master multitasker, remember?” he said. “I texted him while you were looking at the dessert menu. He doesn’t have anything quite right for a bakery, but he’s willing to do the renovations for the right renter.”
She sat up. “I’m the right person.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” he said with a vulnerability that had her wondering if they were still talking about shops. “He offered to show us a few that are available.”
“Us?” How could a tiny word likeussend a tsunami of emotions rolling through her?
He shrugged. “If you want me to come along.”
“Oh, I want you to come.”
His hands, still cupping her backside, nudged her forward, so her palms rested on either side of his head. The teasing expression faded into something more serious, something warmer. “I think I like you, Bianchi,” he whispered.
“I think I like you too.” That was the understatement of the year. She liked him more than chocolate-chocolate-chunk ice cream with hot fudge and whipped cream.
“Glad we have that settled.” He leaned up and snagged her mouth with his, taking his sweet old time, tenderly kissing her. His hold was gentle, his lips featherlight.
He cradled her the way he had that night they’d shared their first kiss, which had been her first ever kiss. It felt exactly like this and nothing like this. All the feels, but now she had the maturity to know how special it was.
“What is this?” she whispered, needing to know she wasn’t the only one feeling what she was feeling.
He met her gaze, then held it for an achingly long time. “I’m not sure, but I want to find out.”
“Me too.”
His eyes went dark—edgy—and he pulled her back to him for a kiss that was hot and panty-melting, a covers-on-the-floor, wild kiss that built and built until everything was in the martini shaker and all it needed was a little shake before the lid flew off.
“Colin,” she groaned, and started moving her hips.
“Bianchi,” he groaned back.
“Dad?”
