A Lie for a Lie (All In 1)

I don’t have a choice but to put back on my clothes from yesterday once I’m done, but at least I’m clean and warm. I’m nervous all over again, unsure how not to be awkward as I head downstairs. I plan to thank him for being so hospitable, and then I’ll head back to my cabin. RJ is in the kitchen, pushing something around in a frying pan. He’s wearing a pair of low-slung sweatpants and a white T-shirt that pulls tight across his back. All my words disappear as I watch his muscles flex under the cotton. I would like to be that cotton.

“Morning. How’d you sleep?” RJ gives me that smile that seems to make my brain short out for a moment.

“I slept great, thank you. I’m sorry it’s so late. Those blinds keep out all the light, don’t they?” My sweater is hanging over the back of the chair, so I pick it up. “I should probably be going.”

“Or you could stay for breakfast,” RJ suggests.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that—I’ve already overstayed my welcome. I’m sure you have a busy day.” I pull the sweater over my head, even though I’m already hot. If I go now, maybe I’ll get that goodbye kiss I’m hoping for.

RJ props a hip against the counter. “Actually, my day is wide open. I mean, there’s a chance I’ll go fishing at some point, but otherwise I’m totally free. Do you have plans?”

“Uh, no, no plans.”

“So you can stay? Have breakfast with me, and then maybe—if you’re feeling up to it—we could go to town, or whatever you want, really.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.” Staying means no goodbye kiss, but maybe we can spend some of the day with our lips against each other’s.

“You’re not imposing at all, Lainey. I’m happy you’re here, and to be honest, I’m still looking for any excuse I can find to spend more time with you.”

“Well, in that case, breakfast sounds great. What can I do to help?” And just like that, the awkwardness is gone.

RJ pours me a coffee. “You drink this, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

I add a little sugar and cream, stir, test, and repeat until it’s perfect. “This coffee is amazing.”

“You sure you got the cream-to-sugar ratio right?” RJ asks.

“Are you making fun of me?”

He holds his thumb and finger close together. “Maybe a little.”

“Too much cream and sugar ruins coffee. I err on the side of caution.” I poke his chest.

RJ wraps his arms around me, pulling me up against him. It looks like that kiss I was hoping for is going to happen a lot sooner than I anticipated. He drops his head, and our lips meet and part, tongues stroking in a wet, velvet caress.

I try not to get carried away like I did last night, but kissing RJ is like eating birthday cake. Once I start, I can’t seem to stop. I run my hands over his chest and grip the back of his neck to keep them from wandering too much. RJ’s hands move in the opposite direction, and he palms my bottom, pulling me closer.

With his free hand, RJ shoves aside whatever’s on the counter and knocks the cutting board into the sink with a loud crash. We break apart for a second to check the damage, but everything seems fine.

RJ turns his attention back to me, lifting me onto the counter. “God, I love your mouth.”

“Every time you kiss me, I feel like I’ve just consumed a gallon of coffee spiked with alcohol,” I tell him.

“Is that a good or a bad thing?” He drags his lips along the column of my throat.

“It’s good. I think.” I tip my head to the side. “Although both are highly addictive. Do you think people can get addicted to kissing? I suppose it’s possible, since people can be addicted to sex. I guess you can be addicted to anything, really.” Crap, I’m babbling.

RJ chuckles and nibbles along the edge of my jaw. “I’m definitely developing an addiction to you.”

I part my legs, and RJ steps into the space, groaning when his erection presses against me. I wrap my legs around his waist and hook my feet behind his back, sinking deeper into lust.

Just as RJ slips his fingers under the hem of my shirt, the pungent aroma of something burning—not related to the fireplace—causes him to break the kiss. “Oh shit!” He reaches over to shut off the burner and move the frying pan, now filled with semicharred hash browns, to an unused burner. In his haste, he knocks over my coffee, which spills across the counter.

I jump down before it can reach me, but it drips over the edge onto the floor, splattering our feet.

RJ nabs a dishtowel to sop it up, cheeks flaming just like mine. “That went wrong fast.”