She looks up at me, still coming off a little bit shy. “You’re trouble.”
“Only the good kind,” I promise, stepping back to give her a little space to get under control.
I wash up the spoon, feeling on cloud fucking nine. I’ve got her hook, line, and sinker. I affect her, and she doesn’t know what to do with that. She wants me, but I see in her eyes that she's terrified of taking what’s already hers. Why, though? I’ve never quite met a woman like this before. Her walls are so thick that she can’t even allow herself a glimpse of happiness.
My phone dings in my pocket, and it momentarily distracts me from what I’m doing. I pause a moment and double-check that it’s not the tone I use for the boys, though if it was them calling me in for an emergency, they would have used my pager. Realizing it’s just a text, I ignore it and get back to cleaning up.
“Was that your phone?” Amelia gasps, making me turn her way in confusion.
“Um, yeah,” I say, a little slowly, wondering where the hell she’s going with this.
“Well, welcome to the twenty-first century,” she teases with a bright, beaming smile. “You know, I kind of owe you an apology.”
That draws my full attention. I place the spoon up to dry and turn off the tap before drying my hands and leaning against the counter. I look her straight in the eye. “Go on,” I prompt, crossing my arms over my chest as I fight a smile, knowing that whatever she’s about to come out with is going to be good.
Amelia cringes but plucks up the courage to tell me what’s on her mind. “In the hardware store the other day, when your pager went off,” she starts. “Well, I kind of laughed at you,” she grins, not sorry at all. “I mean, who the hell uses a pager anymore?”
“I do,” I cut in, loving how she teases me.
“I know, I know,” she says. “It made sense when I figured out what you do for a living, but for the past few days I assumed you were either one of those self-important, arrogant assholes who think they need a pager or just a loser.”
I shake my head, wondering what to do with her. I can’t resist but to walk forward and place my hands down on either side of her legs, leaning into her but giving her just enough space. “And you say that I’m trouble,” I murmur, my voice low as I meet her eyes.
“I think I'm more trouble than you could handle,” she tells me. “But only the good kind.” She winks as she throws my own words back at me, and I think I fall instantly in love. No woman has ever bested me at my own game, yet here she is, absolutely schooling me.
My heart races, and my need to hold her only intensifies. Would it be too impulsive to kiss her right now? My eyes drop to her lips, and they call to me like never before, begging to be kissed, but I don’t think she’s ready. She confirms that very thought a second later. “Don’t even think about it, Romeo,” she murmurs as though this is some kind of game, and her lips are the prize.
My eyes pull back up to hers, and I can’t help but smile at her. “Too late, Angel. I’m already thinking about it.”
Her cheeks flush once again and I see the excitement in her eyes, but I won’t push her on it. She said no, and I’m not about to go and disrespect that. “Well, you’re going to have to think about something else.”
“What are you doing on Saturday night?” I ask.
“Uh,” she says, pretending to think about it. “I think I’m washing my hair.” She gives me a straight look. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m a single mom with two babies under four. I’ll be cooking dinner and hoping not to burn it before chasing them around the house and getting them in bed by a decent hour.”
“You always burn dinner?” I question.
She shrugs a shoulder, her eyes dancing with laughter. “Do you always barge into random women’s homes in the middle of the night?”
“Angel, you’re far from random.”
Her eyes flick down to my lips as she sucks in a slow breath. She wants to kiss me, and I silently beg her to change her mind. What I wouldn’t give to feel those lips on mine. She starts to melt towards me when her back straightens, and before I know it, a wall slams down behind her eyes, completely blocking me out as she pulls back. “We can’t do this,” she tells me.
“Baby, that would be a tragedy,” I tell her, giving her my honest truth.
“I’m just … I’m sorry. I can’t.”