He doesn’t let go of my hand as he walks me to the kitchen. It’s not an intimate gesture, more like he’s making me keep it elevated. He leads me to the counter and in a swift, sudden move, he lifts me on the counter.
He doesn’t speak as he grabs a clean rag out of the drawer and adds ice to the center. I stare at the lines of his back, at the muscles carved into his body. My eyes roam down, following the tapered angle of his waist, obsessing over the small indentions above his ass. His skin is very tan from so many hours outside. There’s a confidence that he carries—that all the guys carry. I sense that it comes from experiences they’ve had in nature and learning to survive; it’s made them trust their bodies.
It’s incredibly attractive.
The truth is that I've been desperately attracted to Smith since day one, and I’ve done my best to give him space. When he walks over with the ice pack and takes my wrist, pressing the cold against it, I can only think one thing; this is not space.
“I’m just glad you were home. God knows how long I would have been stuck under there.”
“It really did scare me,” he admits, blue eyes flicking up to mine. “I nearly broke my neck getting out of the shower.”
“Is that why you didn’t manage to put on any clothes, or did you think Monica was still out here?”
His face scrunches up in question. “Monica?”
“The gorgeous realtor?” I roll my eyes. “Don’t pretend you didn’t see her. She was flirting hard.”
“I saw her.” He shrugs his mountain-sized shoulders and continues to hold the ice against my skin. “She didn’t make a huge impression.”
I snort. “Stop. She’s gorgeous and was totally into you.”
“Are you trying to set me up with her or something? Do you think you’ll get a cut on the commission or something?” he eyes me skeptically.
“What? No.” I shake my head. “Never mind.”
We both stop talking. It never works when we do. Every step forward we make equals two steps back the next time we speak.
“She’s not my type, if you want to really know.”
“I would think Monica would be the type for anyone with a cock.” His eyebrow raises at the word, and that small grin that I find so deadly tugs at his lips. “What? Are you offended by my use of the word cock? Dick, maybe? Johnson? I lived with four teenage boys. I can make a complete list of what guys call their junk.”
“See that’s the thing about you, Sierra. You can toss out the word cock and have no idea what it does to a guy. Just like how you walk around here all the time looking ridiculously, cluelessly hot.”
I roll my eyes and glance down at my overalls. “These? They’re awful. I’ve been wearing these for three days.”
“And driving me crazy for three, full days.”
My heart somersaults in my chest. “You’re being stupid. I look like a fourteen-year-old boy lost in a junkyard.”
He hovers over me, so very, very close. “Monica looks like she’s wasting her life in an office, earning money to support a wardrobe.” He stops in front of me. “You look like the woman someone wants to spend the rest of their life with.” He lifts his hand and grazes my cheek. “Don’t underestimate your appeal, Sierra.”
“If I recall correctly,” I say with a tremble in my voice, “you didn’t find me appealing enough to kiss again.”
Heat flickers in his eyes. “That may have been the dumbest decision of my life.”
My insides quiver. “So, what? You’re ready to share some of that baggage with me?”
He exhales slowly. “I think I’m ready to get rid of it all together, try carrying around something lighter. Easier. Someone who looks like a sexy junkyard worker and tosses around the word 'cock' like it’s nothing.”
It feels like a swift turn around, but I know better. This low boil has been burning between us for months. He probably can smell the sex on me, the sex in the house, and his body is telling him it’s time to join in.
I know that I should tell him about the others before this goes any further, but he’s made me woozy with the scent of soap and clean skin, with the gentle touch of his fingers on my wrist. I’ve waited months for a do-over on our failed kiss. When he bends toward me, I’m not willing to blow it. It may not be fair. It may not be right. But I’m not losing a second chance.
Smith’s lips brush against mine, slow and tentative at first, giving me a chance to back out. It’s fair, he does basically have me trapped between his body and the cabinets. But I want this, too. I take my hand, cold from the ice, and run it down his neck, pulling him to me. That’s all it takes for him to deepen the kiss. His mouth is hot. His lips scalding.
The first kiss we shared had been good. Great. It’s why I wallowed over it for months.
The second one? It’s different, because he’s not holding back. He’s showing me how much he wants me, and I feel it in every inch of my body, all the way down to my toes.