Page 15 of The Contractor's Rose
And, God help me, I wanted to freefall from that ledge.
I should’ve changed before dinner. I should’ve worn a bra. I should’ve just thanked him and locked the shop after he walked out. I should’ve climbed those stairs, made some dinner, gone to bed, and forgotten the way his eyes lingered on me all day.
But I didn’t. I wanted this.
I wantedhim.
And that terrified me almost as much as it thrilled me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice smaller than I meant it to be, raw and honest in a way that left me feeling a little too exposed. “I didn’t think it’d be weird—inviting you to dinner, I mean. I just … I wanted to thank you. For today. You didn’t have to stay and help.”
He leaned in. Just a fraction. Barely enough to call it movement—but I felt it. The heat, the pull.
“And you didn’t have to make it so hard for me to leave.”
My eyes shot to his.
He meant that.
Hewantedto be here. With me.
“Gavin …” My voice snagged on something sharp in my throat. I swallowed and tried again. “This is probably a bad idea.”
He smiled, and it wasn’t a smirk. Nothing cocky or smug in it. It was softer, sadder. Like he knew this could be potentially doomed but couldn’t walk away. “Yeah. It probably is.”
“So why are you still so close?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at me like he was memorizing something. The rain had picked up, beating steadily against the roof of the truck.
“Because I haven’t wanted anything this bad in years,” he said quietly.
My lips parted, but nothing came out. My brain couldn’t find a single word that would match the weight of that confession.
I blinked and tried again. “I’ve never …” He waited, still and steady. All the while, his hand never left my knee. “I’ve never wanted someone like this, either,” I admitted.
I didn’t tell him what I probably should have led with: that I was a virgin.
Not yet. I wasn’t ready for the air to change. I wasn’t ready to feel small or inexperienced or like a girl playing dress-up in a woman’s skin. I just wanted tofeelthis. I wanted to let it exist without pressure or expectation.
But something in his expression shifted anyway.
Did he know? Was it that obvious?
He let out a slow breath as he closed the space between us across the front seat. His forehead touched mine, grounding me, settling me like an anchor dropped in rough water. His fingers were still tangled in my hair, gentle but sure.
“I’m not gonna rush this, Rose. I swear to God. But if you don’t want this—if you want me to back off?—”
“I don’t.”
It came out too fast.
Too loud.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his blue-grey eyes dark and blown with want. “I’m going to kiss you now, sweetheart.”
I nodded because all the words I’d learned in my twenty-seven years of life suddenly vanished from my vocabulary.
He didn’t waste a second. His mouth met mine and the world fell away.
