Heartburn (Love By Design 3)

“Who said anything about clothes coming off? I just want to kiss you. Your lips, my lips, our lips on each other’s lips. You know, lips on lips.” His eyes bore into mine and I lose track thinking about where he’s planning on kissing me. I’d settle for anywhere he’s dragging the ice pack up and down my leg.

“Oh. Lips. Yeah. Okay.” Entranced I’m agreeab

le.

His lips touched mine and for a moment take the focus of pain away from my throbbing knee. His lips are firm and taste delicious. My skin tingled with each touch of his fingers against me.

Whit laid back on the rock we’re sunning on and I leaned into him. Our breaths are heavy and if my knee hadn’t resumed throbbing I’m sure he would have worked my shorts off by now. I kind of wish he did.

“Your hair.” He tugged a lock of it.

“Hmm? What about it?”

He rolled over me careful to avoid any busted up part of me. “It reminds me of wood violets. The kind you see in the early spring. The ones that pop out of the snow, vibrant and full of life.”

“A flower? My hair looks like flowers?”

He grumbled. “Hey, I realize for an old man like me it’s not exactly poetry. I’m sure your contemporaries could do a better job.”

But the reality was that they couldn’t. They weren’t Whit, they didn’t have his cheeky smile and dry humor. They weren’t a fraction of the man he was or the one I needed.

I chuckled, “Right because guys like Ryder West who put up such a good front even know what poetry is.”

“Just saying, Amelia.” His eyes scanned the vista and narrowed in on something across the ridge. He turned serious. I wanted to bottle this moment up and save it forever, bask in the silent stillness that seemed so fleeting.

I tugged on his sleeve until he looked back at me with a smile that crinkled at his eyes and waited at the corner of his kissable and incredibly distracting lips. “No one calls me that.” I whispered.

“I’ve heard tweedle dee and dumb use your name before, your roommate too.”

I rolled my eyes, “Okay, no one I like does it.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I do.” He glanced back. “Maybe that’s our thing.”

“Ugh.”

“Besides I like getting you riled up. It makes for interesting conversation.” I pulled on his sleeve as he gently yanked on a loose lock of hair and tucked it back behind my ear.

“I bet it does.” I rolled my eyes.

“And sex. Always interesting sex.”

“Well butt sex is going to be off the table just so you know.” I pointed to my knee and he pretended to be horrified clutching his chest and prompting his best Gone With The Wind impression.

“My word, Miss Amelia, I would never presume to take you from behind and rut like a woodland animal with you thusly injured.” We busted out laughing and the endorphins muted the pain a fraction.

“Mmm hmm.” I curled myself in the curve of his hard body. His backpack rested on the ground as our make shift pillow and I wished we were back in my apartment or his house lying in a comfortable bed instead of the hard unforgiving ground. This was nice, but the rock felt hot in the sun and my knee ached. If this was any form of glamping, I was out, so out.

“Changing the subject.” He said and I murmured okay. “My friends are planning a combined bachelor/bachelorette party for friends I’ve known forever.”

“Sounds like fun. I can’t say I’ve been to many of those yet.” Because obviously I’m young and none of my friends are getting married yet, but I don’t say that. In fact I’d rather shy away from any conversation that highlights our age difference in any shape or form. I didn’t want to be some fun notch on his belt at the end of the day.

“Well, those crazy kids Kristen and Damien have planned it so who knows, but it’s in Vegas.” He voice trailed off and I waited a pregnant minute for him to say something. “I was wondering if you would like to go.”

“Oh.”

Vegas.

Sin City.