The kitchen door pushed open and Skylar stilled. “Oh, I didn’t hear you come in.”
She had her hair pulled up in another one of those messy buns. A loose sweatshirt hung off her frame and her legs were covered in red and white candy cane striped leggings. Her feet wore the bulkiest socks, the casual vision sending him over the edge.
His throat dried. “I just got home.”
She looked away and pulled a mug from the cabinet, but rather than make her usual bedtime tea, she set the coffee pot to brew. Seeing her stand where they kissed did things to his body, things he had a hard time hiding.
He positioned himself behind the granite island. “No tea?”
“Not tonight.” She fidgeted with the mug, adding a scoop of sugar and a dash of cream. “I have to study.”
He frowned. “For?”
“I have an exam tomorrow.”
Had he missed something? “You’re still in class?” He’d assumed the semester had ended. “I thought…”
“That I finished? That was at the community college where I got my associate’s. I’m starting on my bachelor’s, now, but it will take years to finish—especially since I can’t afford to go full time.” When she looked up at him, her eyes appeared huge. “I’m only taking one class online through Shippensburg at the moment.”
“What class?”
“Behavioral Management.”
Another layer peeled back, revealing more intimate details about who she was and what she might be doing up in that room after eight each evening. The thought of her studying triggered a slew of librarian fantasies, reminding him that she was an intellectual as well as playful.
Smart, beautiful, silly, and an incredible kisser… He was doomed.
He needed to know more. “Is the class difficult?”
She shrugged and her shoulder peeked a little further out of the collar of her sweatshirt. “It’s not easy, but I’ll pass. I just have to study if I want to keep my GPA up.”
She wasn’t wearing a bra. That bare shoulder tormented him, and if he dropped his gaze, he bet he’d see her pert little nipples pressing against the fabric, loose and hungry to be held.
Do not drop your gaze!
He looked.
It was like a punch in the gut. He wanted to slide his hand under the sweatshirt, up her warm skin and cup those sweet curves. She’d let him, too, because she was a good girl who liked being kissed. She liked being naughty.
His cock hardened and his mouth watered as he imagined pulling her sweet, pink nipples into his mouth and sucking them until they were wet and cherry red. He’d lick them over and over, pulling the tips and making her beg—
“You didn’t like it?”
His fantasy screeched to a stop and he followed her gaze to his plate. “I haven’t tasted it yet.” He’d been too distracted and hungry for something else.
Her brow pinched and her lips formed a soft pout. “You don’t have to lie.”
He wasn’t lying. “I’m not.”
“It’s fine. I’m not great with roasts and I think I overcooked it anyway. I can make you something else.” She grabbed the plate as if she intended to dump it in the trash, and he caught her wrist.
“Skylar, leave it.” Touching her was a mistake.
The air snapped with hot energy, and his skin prickled at her nearness. He could so easily bend his head and kiss that exposed shoulder. Her collar bone called to his mouth, begging to be licked.
She looked at his fingers wrapped around her wrist and didn’t tell him to let go. On the contrary, she relaxed her arm, subtly giving in to his hold. He tugged her wrist to his chest and she gasped, staggering into him.
Her eyes looked up, questioning and unsure.
He remembered studying. It was on the tip of his tongue to offer to help her, just so he could work an invitation into her room. He wanted to ask her questions on little flashcards and see her handwriting and watch her think. He wanted her on her knees looking up at him with those big blue eyes.
The coffee pot beeped and the softness in her gaze disappeared. He was keeping her from her books. And he was backtracking.
Days of avoidance down the drain because he couldn’t control himself. What was this hold she had on him?
He released her wrist and she turned away. She poured a cup of coffee with a shaky hand, and he couldn’t bear the idea of causing her any discomfort.
When she put the coffee pot down, he brushed a finger down the back of her exposed shoulder, feather light and gone in less than a second. She tensed. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I do.”
She wouldn’t look at him and it was his fault he’d made her uncomfortable in a home that was now hers.
“The other night…”
“Please,” she begged, her gaze glued to the counter, her voice shaken and desperate. “I let it happen.”