Page 55 of That Moment
I nod, then add, “Yes,” because I know if I tell him that I’m completely turned on by everything he does right now, he’ll toss the steaks and the trash and haul me back inside. “Starving, actually.”
“Good.” He lifts the lid again and pokes around. “Two minutes.”
Two minutes to pretend I’m not thinking about last night and wondering if he was with someone else. Two minutes to decide that I won’t ruin this by asking what happens next.
He closes the lid and steps a little closer. The porch light cuts a warm edge along his jaw. “You keep looking at me like that, Barbie, and dinner’s gonna be real late.”
“Then you better hustle,” I say, trying for breezy and landing somewhere around wanton.
His grin goes slow and lethal. “Yes, ma’am.”
I roll my eyes and walk to the railing, set my glass beside me, and breathe. One night at a time. One impossible night.
He hands me a plate, just steak, nothing else, and drops into the chair across from me.
“That’s it?” I ask, one brow up. “No sides? No salad?”
He cuts into his, unbothered. “Protein. Keeps it simple.”
I laugh, sawing off a bite. “God, that is such a man meal. You’ve got grill marks and zero vegetables. Somewhere, my mother just felt a disturbance in the force.”
He smirks, chewing slowly. “Guess I could use some domestication.”
“Please,” I say, pointing my fork at him. “You’re a lost cause.”
“Maybe I just need the right woman,” he says quietly without looking away.
My heart stumbles. The line hangs there, heavier than it should. He doesn’t elaborate, just takes another bite like he didn’t just throw a live wire between us. I lift my wineglass, hiding behind a sip, pretending the air didn’t shift.
He leans back casually, the wood of the chair creaking under his weight. “You sore?”
I choke on my wine. “What?”
He’s smirking now, eyes sharp with amusement. “Don’t act surprised. I was there, remember?”
“I think you get off on the thought.”
“Hmm?” He drags the word out, lazy and low. “It’s a fair question. I went a little wild earlier.”
“A little?”
He gives a small laugh, deep in his chest. “Fine. A lot.” He takes a sip of wine, watching me over the rim. “So… are you?”
I try to glare at him, but the warmth creeping up my neck gives me away. “Maybe.”
“Maybe, huh?” He shifts his chair back a few inches and kicks one leg up, ankle resting on his knee. “That’s not a no.”
I glance down at my plate, scared to be too honest in the fear that he won’t do it again. “You certainly didn’t hold back with round two.”
He grins. “You told me not to.”
“Because you were holding me down and talking dirty, I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“That’s kind of the point.” His voice drops. “And for the record, I warned you it might hurt.”
My stomach tightens at the sound of his voice like that: rough, teasing, but threaded with the same care he had when he slowed down earlier. “Yeah, well,” I tease, trying to sound unaffected, “maybe next time you can show a little restraint.”
His brows lift. “Next time?”
