I should not be thinking about Rhett Beauregard’s dick.
But like the man himself said: here we are.
Here I am, about to kiss the man I absolutely, positively should not touch, much less make out with.
If only he hadn’t confided in me.
If only he hadn’t listened to my ideas and responded intelligently and earnestly to them.
If only he hadn’t verbalized willingness to change. Not who he is—I’d never ask that of him, nor would I want to—but what he believes. About himself, about the truth.
He’s after the truth, and if that isn’t the sexiest thing ever, I don’t know what is.
Stepping forward, I plaster my body against Rhett’s and urge him backward, so we’re hidden from our view of the stairs. There’s no way Liam could catch us kissing—he’d have to climb out of his crib, open his door, and walk down the hallway—but it still feels weird to do it out in the open.
“Yeah,” Rhett says, reading my mind. His voice husky. “He is a little young for the birds and the bees talk.”
“We’ve talked enough,” I say.
“But you said—nip the tension in the bud—”
I look him in the eye. “Maybe I’m changing my mind.”
He swallows. “Doesn’t change everything we have to lose.”
“It’s complicated. But I’m not sure that makes it wrong. If you don’t want—”
“I do. Christ, A, I don’t think it’s any secret how bad I want you,” he says, eyes searching mine. We’re almost exactly the same height, him barefoot, me in my sneakers. Neither of us has to look up or down. We’re equals this way.
He’s ceding control to me, though. I can tell by the slant of his neck and the heat in his gaze he wants to make a move. But he’s waiting for me to decide what happens next.
His consideration makes me ache.
“Fuck you,” I whisper. “Fuck you for getting this so right.”
And then, before I can chicken out, I tilt my head and kiss Rhett’s mouth.
My pulse is drumming a wild, uneven beat, and I close my eyes against the riot of sensation that ripples from the place where our lips meet.
Need.
Tenderness.
Warmth.
I move my mouth, and Rhett responds in kind. It takes a second to find our rhythm, like we’re trying to remember the lines of a play we performed a long time ago. They’re there, the moves are there, but I have to reach for them. Remind myself it’s okay if I don’t remember it all perfectly because it’s not meant to be the same.
It’s good that it’s different now.
And it is different, if only because neither of us gives up. Our noses bump, and we both pull back for a second to laugh, Rhett’s chest barreling out to press more firmly against my breasts.
The pressure is divine.
He finds my mouth again with his, and this time we get it. The seam of his lips opens, allowing the taste of tea and coffee to mingle on my own lips. His are soft and slow, moving like we have all the time in the world.
I put my other hand on his chest, drawing my fingers into a fist around the fabric. He responds with a grunt, putting a hand on the wall beside my head and melting his hips into mine. My eyes roll to the back of my head as he sips me, small caresses that become thirsty pulls. We’re breathing hard now. I lick inside his mouth, and he tilts his head, opening his lips to me, and his tongue finds mine, playing, toying. Asking.
The fire I saw in his eyes spreads inside my skin, heaviness gathering low in my core as Rhett kisses me, and kisses me. Our heads move in tandem, and he sucks on my bottom lip, just the way I like it. Only this time, he goes back to nip at it, pulling at it with his teeth, something he didn’t do before.
My blood jumps. His taste and the way he moves are both familiar and thrillingly new. His stubble chafes my chin, making the throb between my legs grow hotter.
We’ve had practice since high school, and it shows.
His hand moves to my neck, cupping it, his thumb grazing my jaw. My heart squeezes.
Please. Please don’t let this blow up in our faces.
Please don’t let me fall for this man just to lose him all over again.
“Lili want We-wa, now!” Liam’s little voice plays through the monitor.
Rhett pulls back with a groan, but when I open my eyes, I see that he’s smiling, the kind that touches his eyes.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I glance over my shoulder at the monitor. Liam is standing up in his crib, Pup Pup in hand. “Here, I’ll—”
“Dinner. Tonight. Let me take you out for a real date so we can . . . er, connect without being interrupted.”
My pulse skips a beat. What if someone sees us out together?