He can’t see it, but my cheeks feel warm.
I was acutely aware that I woke up against his side this morning, but I pretended to be asleep until he got up so neither of us would have to acknowledge it. He definitely noticed, though.
“I guess I was,” I admit. “I’m sorry if?—”
“You don’t have to apologize.” One hand strokes up and down my arm. “You were cold, and I tend to run hot.”
There’s probably a double entendre in there somewhere, but I probably shouldn’t say that. It’s not necessary. He said it for a reason, and I think we both feel whatever we’ve been feeling over the last twenty-four hours.
The looks we’ve been sharing.
The moments of intimacy that have nothing to do with sex.
A full day of…I don’t even know what to call it. It’s more stolen moments in time than reality but this is real. At least, it is to me.
I lift my head to find him watching me, his gaze dark and direct.
He wants to kiss me.
I want to let him.
But I shouldn’t.
This is just a temporary fantasy.
We can’t but?—
“You’re beautiful,” he says gruffly. “And I really want to kiss you but I see the conflict in your eyes. If you’re uncomfortable?—”
“No, it’s not that. I do want to but…you have to know, West. I don’t date hockey players.” I keep my voice playful, like it’s a joke. It kind of is. Even though a small part of me wants to mean it.
I feel him nodding.
“That works out because…I don’t date redheads.”
I want to laugh but instead, I lift my head to meet his gaze directly. “So, what does this mean?”
“It’s just a kiss, angel. Nothing more, nothing less. We’re adults and want to kiss. Your son is like twenty feet away, so I’m pretty sure you’re safe from anything else.”
Angel.
Has anyone ever used a term of endearment like that with me? If they did, it certainly wasn’tangel.
Who is this guy? I want to know so much more.
“Say yes, angel. I can’t do this until you do.”
“Are you…asking permission to kiss me, good sir?” It seems easier to keep the moment playful. Because the alternative is me ripping his clothes off and the two of us doing something we shouldn’t.
“Yes, milady. Do I have your permission to press my lips to yours and ravage your mouth?”
Sweet Jesus.
I’ve never thought of a kiss in quite those terms before, but the answer is undoubtedly yes.
“Yes,” I whisper gruffly, all playfulness gone.
His breath is warm as the touch of his beard tickles my skin, but it’s the look in his eyes that makes my breath hitch. Like there’s no one in the world but me. And technically, at this moment, it’s true. It’s the two of us locked away in a little world of our own with no access to reality.