He chuckled. “You know me too well.”
Not nearly as well as I’d like, she thought, and escaped into the living room before he could see her blush.
***
Jeremy lounged against the couch cushions and fidgeted. Erica was in the kitchen; she’d run away after mumbling something about drinks, after he’d made another ridiculously stupid, flirty joke. He’d been tripping over himself all night, walking on eggshells. Eggshells strewn across an ice-covered lake in the middle of a warm snap.
One would think, after seven years apart, he’d have learned to keep his cool in front of her. One would be entirely wrong, and might just deserve a fist to the jaw. Jeremy couldn’t even manage one conversation without wanting to pull her into his arms. He couldn’t watch her chase strings of cheese from her slice to her plate, her lips glistening from the dart of her tongue, without wanting to do far more than that. When he’d caught her in his grip in the kitchen, it had taken all his willpower to just…let go.
Let go, and not kiss her until those dark, lovely eyes finally showed him something. Desire. Longing. Anything. Anything, so long as he knew how she felt about him.
No. He already knew how she felt about him, and he needed to leave before he made a fool of himself.
Again.
He stood. He’d make his excuses and get the hell out. He stalked around the corner to the kitchen—and collided full force with Erica. Erica, and two full glasses of water. She squeaked and fell right onto her butt. The water splashed into her face and cascaded down her face, throat, and breasts. Her mouth curved into a perfectly darling, startled O.
She blinked water from her eyes and swiped a hand over her face. He lurched down to his knees and plucked the glasses out of her lap. After setting them on the floor, he ripped his shirt off and dabbed at her face.
“I’m so sorry, Erica. I didn’t hear you coming.”
He dried the moisture from her cheeks, then patted her neck dry. Her soft skin underneath his hands made his fingers shake. He nearly forgot how to breathe, and made himself focus on catching every hint of water glistening on her smooth, touchable skin.
She gripped his forearms. “It’s fine. You don’t have to.”
He paused—yet she wasn’t what stopped him. The only thing left to dry was her chest. His eyes dipped down, past her neckline, lingering on a single diamond drop of water against the soft swell of her breasts. Her sharp intake of breath made them rise. Heat flushed his face, and he jerked his gaze to hers.
She stared at him, rosettes blooming in her cheeks. Something in her gaze drew him. Lured him. Coaxed him to do something he never thought he’d have the courage to try. It wasn’t mere desire. It was a compulsion, ingrained so deep he couldn’t possibly resist.
He leaned in. Neither spoke; his blood pumped, his pulse loud between them. Her lips parted, and he paused a mere breath away. Waiting. Giving her a chance to deny him, and refuse him the one thing he’d wanted for more than half his life.
Her.
Yet her eyes slipped closed, and the slight tilt of her chin was the only answer he needed. He pressed his lips to hers, gentle and so very careful, and cradled the curve of her cheek in his palm.
She sighed against his lips. He watched her with hypnotized intensity as he worshipped her mouth; her blush darkened, her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, and as he teased at her lips she opened for him, enticing him to explore, to press deeper, to take her as his own.
Her tongue touched his, and he groaned. Just a slant of his head, a little more pressure, and their lips fit together perfectly. He curled his hands against her waist—but as soon as his fingers touched the curve of her hips, she stiffened and pulled away.
Sucking in a deep breath, she jerked back. Away from him. Pain sliced through him. Of course. Maybe she’d forgotten who she was kissing, for a moment. No doubt she was horrified with herself, now. Sickened.
He never should have kissed her.
He stood and, reaching down, pulled her to her feet. He let her go as soon as she was steady, shoved his hands in his pockets, and muttered, “You should go change.”
Her lips were deliciously swollen. He lingered on them—especially when she avoided his eyes. Great. She couldn’t even stand to look at him. Was she so ashamed of kissing someone who was barely scum in comparison to her?
“Um, yeah.” Her voice sounded hollow. “Okay. I’ll be right back.” She took a shuddering breath and finally looked at him, her eyes guarded. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“You’re sorry? I’m not.”
He stepped closer and ran a finger down her cheek. She shivered. He smiled with grim satisfaction, even if he felt more like screaming. No matter her shame, she wanted him. It was in every tremor of her lips, even if her gaze was still wholly closed to him. Even with the suspiciously damp sheen in
her eyes, her feelings remained entirely masked.
“I want you, Erica,” he said. “I always have. Nothing has changed for me.”
She hugged his soaked shirt to her chest and bit down on her lip, as if stopping its quiver could hide her upset from him. “I—we can’t. I’m not…I…it’s just not possible.”