She stepped closer. “I know.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” I chuckled.
“Yes, I do.” Another step. “My dad. The team. Isla. My elective. Your career. Max being a pain in the ass.”
She was close enough now that I could smell her shampoo. Something soft and sweet that did not belong in my condo unless I was allowed to bury my face in her neck and ruin both our lives.
I swallowed hard. “We can just hang out.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“I mean it,” I said, even though my voice sounded like I absolutely did not mean it. “We don’t have to do anything.”
Catherine looked at me for a long second. Then she reached for the front of my shirt and pulled me closer. “Only if hanging out includes your bedroom.”
My body went tight.
“And your bed,” she added.
I stared at her.
She stared right back, nervous but not backing down.
“You sure about that?” I asked.
“I came here, didn’t I?” she asked, her right brow cocked in challenge, and it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
“That’s not an answer,” I replied, needing her absolute confirmation.
Her fingers flexed against my shirt. “Yes, Hunter. I’m sure.”
I should’ve kissed her then. Instead, I took one second too long because that was who I was now, apparently. The guy whofinally had the woman he wanted standing in his condo asking for his bed and still couldn’t stop thinking about whether I deserved her there. Her ex had made her feel like she wasn’t enough. I knew what betrayal did, and I wanted her to feel chosen by me.
She tugged on my shirt. “You’re thinking too much.”
“I’m trying not to screw this up,” I admitted.
Something softened in her face, and somehow that was worse than the heat. “You’re not.”
“You don’t know that,” I answered.
“I know you,” she said.
That hit harder than it should have. I stepped into her space and cupped her jaw. Her breath caught, and the sound went straight through me.
“I’ve been alone a long time,” I said quietly.
Her expression changed. Not pity. Just understanding. “I know.”
“I’m not good at relationships. I haven’t ever had a real one,” I confessed.
“I’m confused. Sex? You’re bad at sex?” she asked.
I felt my eyes bulge. “I’m good at sex. That’s not what I meant.” I brushed my thumb over her lower lip. “I meant wanting something for myself.”
Her eyes went glossy for half a second before she blinked it away. Then she pushed up on her toes and kissed me. She kissed me like she was done waiting for me to talk us out of it. I caught her waist and dragged her against me. Her hands slid up my chest and into my hair, and the sound she made when I opened my mouth over hers nearly took me out at the knees. Last night, I’d stopped because I had to. Today, stopping felt impossible.
She backed me into the door, and I let her. Because apparently Catherine Davis with her hands in my hair and her body pressed against mine could make a thirty-three-year-oldman forget he had ever been in charge of anything. Her fingers went to my belt. I caught her wrist.