Page 29 of Where It All Began
Frowning, she pushed her glasses up her nose and began to read. Her gaze flew back to his, eyes sparkling.
“These are answers to some of the millions of questions I’ve thrown at you.”
He scratched absently at the back of his head. “Yeah, I, uh, tend to communicate better in writing. I hope you don’t mind.”
She was out of her seat and hugging him before he could even put down his beer. He tensed against her, unprepared to have her lithe, soft body pressed against his. Dear God, she hadn’t put a bra back on after her shower, and her breasts were in his face.
He gave her a little nudge backwards before she could find out what kind of effect she was having on him. He was only human.
“John, this is incredible,” she said, smashing the papers against his chest, bouncing on her toes. “This is perfect!”
For the love of God, he needed her to stop bouncing. The shorts he’d changed into for the night were not hiding the hard-on that was currently throbbing for release.
Phoebe leaned down and placed a light kiss at the corner of his mouth. John didn’t know what he was doing. One second he was trying to hold her off, convincing himself that they could remain platonic associates, and the next he was standing up so fast his chair tipped over backwards. The purely biological impulse took over and had him gathering her in to him.
Her eyes widened when he pulled her hips against him, and she felt him hard. Neither of them moved. John prayed that she would step away from him, make the decision for him. But God was not listening to the prayers of a terrified farmer. Still clutching the papers, Phoebe wound her arms around his neck. Her breasts, soft and warm, pressed against his chest and John’s fingers flexed on her hips.
Phoebe felt better than he ever thought possible. She belonged here in his arms, his body decided, even as his mind argued. And if she moved again, John feared he wouldn’t be able to be held responsible for his actions.
Oh, shit.
She rose on tip-toe. Her full lips parted slightly, her breath uneven. Those emerald eyes were bright and curious. He held his breath as she tilted her head to the side. Those perfect lips slowly, slowly began to close the distance between them.
His blood was on fire in his veins. He hadn’t known he’d wanted this moment this badly until it was here. But now he knew. And he wouldn’t forget again, wouldn’t be able to bury the want, the thirst so easily.
Phoebe’s lips grazed his, a delicate, hollowing touch. He prayed his knees wouldn’t go weak and embarrass him.
He watched himself do it. Watched himself ignore the calculated, logical path he’d chosen and snaked a hand up to grip her ponytail. John tugged her head back so she was staring up at him, starry-eyed and trembling. A low growl, unlike anything he’d ever heard before, escaped his throat and sent Murdock scurrying down the hallway and up the stairs.
He was going to stake his claim, his blood pounding through his veins. The sharp tongues of anticipation, excitement, and need urged him on.
He was a millimeter from her mouth, those lush lips, those dark promises, when they both heard the pounding at the front door.
“Yoo-hoo?”
They broke apart like shattering glass. Phoebe sagged against the wall while John tried to will away the evidence of his desire and get his vision back from black.
“Holy hell,” she breathed, her chest heaving with each gasping breath.
“I’m gonna need a minute here,” he muttered.
“I can see that,” she said, eyes wide.
The knock sounded again.
“I’ll, um, go see who that is,” she said, dazedly staring at his crotch and backing out of the room. She smacked into the doorframe and swore.
As soon as she was gone, John hustled across the room and shoved his head in the freezer. “What the fuck was I thinking?” he groaned to the ice cubes in the tray.
Phoebe Allen was a damn witch. There was no other explanation. She’d taken his understandable and logical reluctance to begin a relationship and seconds later had him mauling her in his own kitchen.
He was bewitched. And if he continued to think about her, the lust sparkling in her eyes, the breathy catch in her throat, he’d never be fit for company. Murdock was yapping at the front door now, and he heard a woman’s voice. Maybe he’d just slip out the side door and gather his… thoughts.
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On autopilot, a scarlet-cheeked Phoebe yanked open the door.
“Hello, hello!” Elvira announced cheerfully as she bustled her way past Phoebe and into the house. “Hey, there little guy,” she said, leaning down to scratch Murdock’s head. The dog cowered for a second at this stranger’s greeting before his little stub began to wag in a blur of ecstasy.
