Strangely, wonderfully, woefully disarmed.
Her infectious smile wanes as our gazes hold.
I’m an unfeeling bastard, but tonight I’m feeling something—which means she’s got to be feeling it too.
“What?” I ask. “You have that look on your face—the one you get when you’re about to say something profound.”
I’m teasing, but I’m not.
I take in her half-squinted stare and the way she toys with the inner corner of her lip and adjusts her shoulders ever so slightly, like she’s editing her words before she even speaks them.
Typical writer.
“What are you thinking about, Elle?” I attempt to coax her thoughts out of her.
Swallowing, she clears her throat. “Just trying to wrap my head around all of this. It’s weird, right? I mean, a few weeks ago, the mere mention of you would send the entire office into a tailspin. And the way you called me out in that meeting . . . infuriating. I couldn’t stand you. And now here I am, in your home, touching you, standing so close to you I can smell the traces of your morning shower, and the only thing I can’t stop thinking about . . . is if you’re going to kiss me or not. And it’s all really confusing for me . . .”
My entire adult life, I’ve always been the one to make the first move. And traditionally, a true gentleman should. But seeing how this woman has stolen my niece’s affections, my attention, and my late-night thoughts, why not add another thing to the list?
I cup the side of her cheek, running my thumb along her lower lip. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
“Honestly?” She winces in a sexually tortured sort of way. “I don’t know if I want you to kiss me . . . or if I just want you to want to kiss me.”
Leaning in, I graze her soft mouth with mine. “I want to kiss you—if that helps you make up your mind. So I’ll ask again, Elle: Do you want me to kiss you?”
She exhales, her breath sweet and hot like cinnamon yet as smooth as the top-shelf gin on her tongue.
“Maybe you should just do it,” she says, eyes clenched.
Removing my hand from her face, I pinch the bridge of my nose and step back.
“What?” She unclenches, though she’s still very much braced for a kiss that hasn’t happened—yet.
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about kissing you,” I say, dragging her perfume into my lungs before letting it go. “But not like this. Not with you squinting and wincing like you’re about to kiss a damn frog.”
“Wait.” Her expression softens. “You’ve thought about kissing me before?”
“Don’t act so surprised.”
“Up until the day I quit, I didn’t even know you knew my name until you dragged me through the mud in your meeting. And then, when you came to my house and told me you were a fan of all of my articles . . .” She lifts a hand to her head, mimicking an explosion. “And now. Now. You tell me you’ve thought about kissing me so many times you’ve lost track?”
I roll my eyes. “So you’ve never thought about kissing me? Not once?”
“Until tonight, I hadn’t allowed the thought to cross my mind,” she says, enunciating each word. “I don’t know if you know this, but you and me? We don’t travel in the same circles. We’re not in the same orbit. I don’t even know that we’re on the same planet . . .”
“And yet here we are. Having a drink. Ruining a perfectly kissable moment with a ridiculous debate.”
“Ridiculous debate? You realize if we kiss, it’s going to change everything.”
“Only if we let it.”
She tucks her chin, lips moving like she’s about to say something. “West . . .”
“For the record—and for what it’s worth—I think you’re stunning. Kind. Generous. And wildly talented.” I close the distance between us. “I also think you’re a grown woman who’s perfectly capable of kissing a man and dealing with whatever consequences may befall you afterward.”
Her eyes flash.
“So I’ll ask you one last time, Elle,” I say. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
As she sucks in a hard breath, her chest rises and falls, and she lifts a hand to her chest as if to steady her heartbeat.
“For someone who preaches about truth and fearlessness . . . I don’t understand the hesitation,” I say.
Her shoulders fall, and she nods. “No, you’re right. You’re absolutely right.”
“So what are you so afraid of?” I hook my hands on her hips, steering her closer.
“I’ve seen what you’ve done to people’s careers . . . I can only imagine what you’re capable of doing to someone’s heart.”
She’s not wrong.
I’ve been known to obliterate a myriad of things in my life—but they were always out of necessity. But I can’t imagine destroying a single piece of the beautiful soul standing before me.