Drawn Deep (Afternoon Delight 2)

That was his Kim, strong and fierce and facing her life head-on.

“After I saw that sign, I knew we needed to talk,” she continued. “I’d started to figure it out anyway but that proved it. On the way back, lo and behold, my gas light comes on. I was not near home. I walked many miles in these shoes.” She lifted her foot and wiggled her strappy heel. “If this burning in my calves stops and I can still move tomorrow, I’m signing up for Sara’s Zumba classes. For real this time.” She held up three fingers like a Scout.

“You forgot to put gas in the car? Really, Kim?” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You should’ve called.”

“I might’ve, had I remembered to bring my phone. Alas, I did not. So I walked.”

“What if—”

“What if someone accosted the wet pissed-off woman swearing with every step? Yeah right. I would’ve liked to see a bastard try.”

He laughed. Simply had no choice. Just like he had no choice but to pull her close. “I know I’m supposed to wait my turn but I can’t. I need to know now. Do I get another chance?”

“To fill me up?”

Dirty images invaded his mind and they had nothing to do with making sure she gassed up properly. “Sure. Call it whatever you like.”

“That depends.” She spoke against his throat.

“On what?”

She eased back, her big brown eyes as damp as her skin. “Do I?”

His heart squeezed and he buried his face in the damp ropes of her hair. “God, yes.” Swallowing hard, he cupped her face in his hands. “Do you know how worried I was about you? I never should’ve let you leave.”

“It all worked out in the end. The walk definitely cleared out my head.” A tear tracked down her cheek, dripping into his palm. “Though I have to admit I didn’t appreciate getting all that extra time to plan my speech.”

“I bet. Ouch.” He winced and glanced at her shoes again. Sexy shoes, undoubtedly. Worth the pain of a long walk, probably not. “You could’ve probably flagged someone down with a phone.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But it’s time I dig myself out of my messes.”

“You’ve always dug yourself out. That’s why I fell for you in the first place. One of the reasons anyway.” He stroked her temple. She brought out the need to touch in him every time she was in his arms—and even when she wasn’t. “I’m sorry. You have to be hurting.”

“I am. In more ways than one.” She let out a long breath and slid her fingers around his wrist, still framing her jaw. “Not many men would’ve stayed to handle the party after I stormed out.”

“I’m not most men.”

She gave him a tentative smile. “No freaking kidding. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But if this is just about gratitude—”

“No. It’s not. I didn’t want you to let me go. And I don’t want you to sleep with a beautiful young chippie without cellulite, varicose veins or crow’s feet. That’s what expensive anti-aging creams and Botox are for. Plus I’m now taking Zumba. I expect to be insanely flexible by Christmas.”

He rubbed her lower lip, so grateful for her it took a moment to find his voice. “That so?”

“Yes. Though it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you said that you like me the way I am. I really wouldn’t mind.”

“I do like you just as you are.” He tipped up her face to his. “Actually that was a lie,” he said, enjoying her momentary pout. “And while we’re on the subject of them, I told one that night in my living room. I said that any man other than me would find you easy to fall for. That was a fucking whopper. So that makes three major lies I’ve told you. Four if you count the house. Because not only do I like you as you are, I love you. I think I loved you when you were texting obscenities at your ex and kicking your tire that first night—”

“Shut up.” Arching onto her tiptoes, she grabbed his face and covered his mouth with hers. Silencing everything but the wild beat of his heart and the breath he couldn’t hold back at the sensation of her warm, wet lips caressing his. Everything he’d ever wanted existed in the simplicity of their lips moving together.

When she finally pulled back, he dropped his forehead to hers. “Let’s go upstairs and fuck it out.”

Chuckling, she sagged in his embrace. With relief or exhaustion, he couldn’t tell. Maybe both. “Michael.”

“Don’t Michael me. I’m not a child. I know what I feel. You make me laugh. You make me happy in a way I’ve never been. I can’t get enough of you.”

“Infatuation is—”