Had she read him wrong? “You wanted to touch me.”
He dropped his eyes and flushed. She’d read him. He’d wanted to paddle her ass for waking him, for being dressed like she was.
“I wanted to touch you. You have abs, Tom, rock-hard, rippled abs. I nearly broke my elbow on them. I’ve never kissed with a man who has abs like you, who has arms like you. You hide all that awesomeness under a suit. I want to put my hands all over you.”
His eyes came up. “It wouldn’t be right.”
But it could be so good. “Because you’re my landlord?”
He seemed to have locked eyes on her lips. “Yes.”
She sat back on her heels. His eyes said one thing, but his body said another. If he sank any further into the sectional he’d fall through it onto the floor. She’d felt sexy for a minute, now she felt predatory. She couldn’t make him want to kiss her, but at least he could be honest. They were unattached adults. It was a kiss, or more, it wasn’t life-defining.
“Should have known you were repressed.” He’d move away. Or he’d make an insulting remark. He was good at that.
“Not repressed, careful. There’s a difference.”
She’d forgotten he didn’t do messy, complicated, out-of-order. He didn’t take risks to get what he wanted because he didn’t have to. “Oh yeah, if you kiss me you might lose a band shirt. You might make a dud playlist. You live twenty-three stories up and your balcony door is set to automatically lock. Who do you think is coming after your stuff, Spider-Man? That’s not careful, that’s obsessive.”
He cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything.
“Okay, forget it. I made a mistake. You’re not into it. I’m sorry. It’s only a kiss. Something tasty, like a serving of cobbler.” She swung her legs around and sat properly, looked out at the cabinet that held his TV.
“I don’t think it works like cobbler.”
“If Tinder is a cupcake, a kiss can be cobbler.”
“I rarely eat dessert.”
“You made an exception for me. Twice.”
He sat forward. “Flick, it would be ill-advised.”
“Oh Tom.” She glared at him. She wasn’t wrong about him wanting this, but she’d misjudged the intensity of his self-denial. “I’m a willing hookup, not a client paying for advice. Live a little. It’s just a kiss.”
He groaned. “Nothing is just anything with you.”
She turned her face away. She was going to bed unkissed and frustrated. She’d run her vibrator on high and not hold back and hope he heard her moaning. Hope it got him knotted up and strung-out.
“It’s good sense. Imagine the complications,” he said.
“I’m imagining them.” In hot, sweaty detail.
“Flick.”
Why was he still here if he wasn’t thinking about it too? He had a kitchen to clean, a social feed to monitor, no doubt a hundred unread emails to deal with. She angled toward him. “Tom, you have no trouble being dismissive. I think you want this kiss as much as I do.”
He passed his hand over his face. “Oh fuck.” His tone was full of repressed longing and his eyes—his eyes said he wanted and wanted. She put her hand to his shoulder and scooted closer. Last chance, buddy. You want out, do something about it.
His hand went to her cheek. The briefest, most tentative touch of his fingertips. “This is a terrible idea.”
“But you still want it.”
He touched her face again, but this time didn’t pull
his hand away. He smoothed his fingertips over her cheekbone and slid them into her hair. His breathing was all out of rhythm and his pupils had blown out to dark wells of desire. This was reticent Tom, getting over himself, doing something about being kissed and doing it so gently and torturously slowly Flick’s own breathing clogged in her throat and she was helpless not to lean into the warm cradle of his hand. She wanted to touch more of him, feel his strength, the barely perceptible tremor in him, but she was frightened it would remind him this was real.
He angled his head and brushed his nose on hers. She tried to catch his lips and he pulled away, but only long enough to sweep his eyes over her face and decide. Oh please, please. When he brushed her nose again, he found her lips. A graze so light and brief it was like frosting, barely there but the best part of the cake. Neither of them pulled back.