Page 34 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
I grab the other end of the pillow before she can snatch it away.“What are you doing?”
“Moving you back to the bed.”
Neither of us lets go in this ridiculous tug-of-war.
“Let go, Foster.”
“You let go, Harrison.”
One sharp tug and she stumbles forward, caught off balance.My arm shoots out, catching her waist.The pillow falls forgotten as she collides with my chest, her hands bracing against me.We’re inches apart.Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from her skin, smell the shampoo in her hair.Her pulse jumps visibly at her throat.
Neither of us moves.
Her hands press against my chest, my palm sliding to the small of her back like I’m steadying a skittish colt.She breathes in, sharp but shallow.Her eyes flick to my mouth for less than a second, but I catch it.I always catch it.I’ve been still for broken-legged dogs and wild-eyed barn cats.I’ve stitched wounds through Pine Creek’s Tornado Warning three years ago.I can do this.Be the safe thing.
Her eyes search mine, looking for something I want to have in me.
She shifts closer, just barely, but enough that I feel the heat of her through both our clothes.Her face tilts up, and for a moment she hovers there, close enough I can feel her breath on my jaw.Close enough that all I’d have to do is lower my head an inch.Maybe less.
Her fingers curl into my shirt.Not pulling.Just...gripping.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispers against the space between us.
“Probably.”I don’t move.Can’t move.Won’t.
She stays suspended there, caught between backing away and closing the distance.I watch her pulse flutter at her throat.Watch her wrestle with whatever war she’s fighting in her head.
“I don’t do Steri-Strip sex,” she says, barely audible.“I haven’t...not since Chuck.”
“Steri-Strip sex?”
“Like sex to cover trauma?A distraction?A quick fix for—”
“How about feel-good sex with someone you trust and who wants you?”
She pulls back just enough to look at me, something flickering in her eyes.“You’re leaving tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“This can’t be anything more than tonight.”
Her lips are almost brushing mine when she stops.Freezes.Her jaw sets with some kind of decision.
“One night,” she says, harder this time.Making it a declaration.“That’s all this is.All it can be.”
“Eve—”
“No expectations.”Her voice steadies, finding its clinical edge even while her body stays pressed close.“No promises we can’t keep.No regrets.No remorse.”
My hand flexes against her waist.“Is that what you want?Are you sure?”I ask, my voice rougher than intended.“Just tonight?”
“It’s all we have,” she says, but her fingers curl into my shirt, contradicting her words.“You’re moving tomorrow…”
“And you’ll go back to Chicago,” I finish, unable to keep the edge from my voice.“Back to the life you’ve built without me.”
Hurt flashes in her eyes.“We both moved on, Adam.”
“Did we?”My hand slides from her waist to the small of her back, not pulling her closer, but not letting her retreat either.“Because I still remember exactly how you sound when you laugh.How you tap your fingers and clear your throat when you’re nervous.How you used to fall asleep during our calls and I’d watch you breathe for a while before hanging up.”
