The Life That Mattered (Life Duet 1)

“Your geek side is adorable.”

My cheeks bloomed with heat. “Thanks. Obviously, it’s effortless too.”

Ronin grinned. “Please thank Graham and Lila again for dinner. I’ve enjoyed every second of this evening.”

I returned a slow nod. He still held my hand in his left hand and my keycard in his right hand. I wasn’t drunk, barely even tipsy by that point. The wine held no blame for my desire to invite him into my room. Had I been home, I would’ve invited him into my house. But houses had kitchens and living rooms. Okay, my suite had both of those things too, but the large king bed monopolized the space, demanding attention. I wasn’t sure I could invite Ronin into my room without doing something impulsive.

Courting and no-sex-until-the-third-date rules didn’t apply to women in their thirties. That made it so tempting to give in to my impulsivity. By thirty, my parents’ generation gave up on my generation going down a straight path: school, love, marriage, children. Thirty and single was the new fifty and widowed. “Poor thing … she’ll be lucky if anyone takes her.”

Sex on the first date in your thirties symbolized a goddamn miracle like the lottery, not a cardinal sin with a ticket to Hell. “Yay! Someone might take her!” Their opinions were not up-to-date. The average age for my generation to get married and start a family breached thirty’s door. However, my parents had two kids in school by that point in their lives, so they compared me to the past, not the present.

Still … I smiled and took the traditional route with Ronin that night. “I had a nice time too. I hope you’re not regretting this in the morning when you’re dragging ass to the airport.”

He winked. “I’ll sleep on the plane.”

“You should stop by my shop when you get to Aspen. Well, wait a week until I’m there. But definitely stop by. No need to buy anything. Just …” Enough with the rambling, I chastised myself.

“What’s the name of your shop?”

“Clean Art.”

He grinned. “Clean Art. Nice name. I’ll stop by as soon as I get there and grab a few things to try. When you return, I’ll give you my unbiased opinion of them.”

No. He couldn’t stop by until I was there. Soapy Sophie, my manager and sole employee, would try to steal him.

He was mine. I found him.

“Really, you should wait for me. I’ll help you pick out the right products for your skin type.”

“What’s my skin type?”

Perfect. It was perfect.

“I don’t want to say. It’s terrible lighting. I’ll get a closer look when I return home.”

He released my hand, bent forward, and pulled his hair away from his forehead, hovering several inches from my face. “Oily? Dry? Combination?”

I returned a nervous smile, wagging my head. “It’s … nice. I’ll find something that will keep it nice.”

His grin swelled, showing a lot of white teeth while keeping his face so close to mine I felt like it would be a waste of bending-over effort to not go ahead and kiss. I mean … he was right there, an evil tempter.

“Nice, huh?” he whispered.

As he started to stand straight again, I grabbed his face, pressing my palms to his cheeks. “But your lips might be a bit dry.” Holy crap! I sounded breathy.

His gaze fell to my mouth. “Is that so?”

My lips rubbed together as if a wave of self-consciousness hit them. “Happens when you’re in the elements so much.” My thumb brushed his bottom lip. It was barely dry. And it was probably the pad of my dry thumb, not his lip.

As my bravery dissolved, loosening my grip, he grabbed my wrist, holding my hand by his mouth. His tongue flicked out, teasing his bottom lip and my thumb. When he grazed it with his teeth, my lips parted, releasing an even heavier audible breath.

A prickly sensation spread along my skin while heat gathered low in my belly, up my chest, and along my cheeks.

“Sweet dreams, Evelyn.” He twisted my wrist, pressing the softest imaginable kiss to the inside of it.

I swallowed, choking on my own erratic and out of control pulse. “I …” Just great. A huskiness infiltrated my words. His effect on me couldn’t have been more obvious. I cleared my throat, grappling with my composure. “I should get your phone number, so you know when I’m home. For … soap.” The second I said the word soap, I bit my lips to hide my grin and closed my eyes to run from my embarrassment.

Yes. Soap. Ronin was moving. Taking a new job. Settling into a new home. Yet, surely the distress over finding the right soap in Colorado kept him up at night.

Ronin straightened his back, wetting his lips while releasing my hand to my side. “Clean Art. Don’t worry … I’ll find you.”