Stir Me (Rouse Me 2)

I nod. She melts, her eyes filling with affection.

She runs her fingers down my chin. "Did he at least start it?"

"It depends on your definition of 'start it.'"

She sighs. "What the hell am I going to do with you?"

"Kiss me."

She holds my gaze for a minute like she's considering it. She runs her fingers through my hair, moving closer to me. Then her eyes flutter closed. Mine follow, and it's just her lips on my lips. And all the need inside me is pouring into her.

When we break, I'm breathless. I hold her gaze. "I love you."

"I know." She wraps her arms around me. "But I really don't know what I'm going to do with you."

"I don't care about anything but being with you."

"Your black eye disagrees," she says.

"My fist cares about smashing Ryan's face, but you can hardly blame me for that."

She laughs, shaking her head. It's sweet. Genuine. Like it amuses her more than it upsets her.

"Come on," she says, "I'll take you home."

She offers her hand, and I soak in the feeling of it, just in case this is the last time.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Alyssa shoves me onto the kitchen counter. Her touch is gentle, sweet, and my body shakes from the proximity. She's so close. I have no clue what's going through her head--if she hates me, if she's convinced I don't deserve a second chance--but she's here in my apartment.

She scans my freezer. "How is it possible you don't own a single bag of peas?"

"I outgrew peas almost twenty years ago."

"You should have planned this better. Kept an ice pack on hand at the least."

"There's always next time."

She looks at me like I'm ridiculous. Then she slips back into her stoic facade. But there's a warmth under it. I can feel it.

She settles on a bag of frozen blueberries and moves towards me.

"He looks worse, right?" I ask.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-six."

"That's what I thought, but I figured I must have it wrong. Because there's no way a twenty-six-year-old man, a lawyer, would get into a fistfight at his office."

"You'd be surprised."

She smiles. "Tell me about it."

She presses the bag of blueberries to my eyes. It stings, but it's nothing compared to the hole in my gut from her being away.

"He was insulting you," I say.