Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“You’ve got the wine blush. It looks good on you.”
“I should probably hold off on finishing this glass.” She sets it down and pushes back her chair. “I’ll help clear the table.” She arranges her fork and knife on her plate, which she cleared impressively, and takes it to the sink to rinse it off.
I put away the condiments while Lainey rearranges the dishwasher for me. She also refuses to put the pots and pans in there, assuring me they won’t come clean and it will just bake on and be ten times harder to get off.
“I can wash.” Lainey bumps her hip against mine, nudging me out of the way.
“You’re my guest—you don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind.” She puts the plug in the drain, squirts some dish soap into the sink, and turns on the tap. “The hot water is actually really nice.”
I lean against the counter. “What do you mean?”
“Just a bit of trouble with the water heater at the cabin.” The fact that she doesn’t look at me tells me there’s probably more than a bit of a problem.
“Do you have hot water?”
“It’ll be worked out soon.” She waves a soapy hand, flinging suds in the air. They land on her chest and in her hair—and also on me. “Oh! I’m so sorry!”
She wipes her sudsy hands on her jeans and starts brushing them off my chest and neck. I don’t stop her, because I’m more than happy to have her hands on me.
She makes the most adorable face. “There’s some in your hair. I’m really sorry—I get flaily when I’m nervous, which is a lot of the time. And then I start talking and I can’t stop.”
“Am I making you nervous?” I bite back a smile.
“Well, not you, exactly, but the whole situation at my cabin—and I don’t want you to think I came here because I want your help or anything. Or that I’m trying to mooch a meal off of you or take over your kitchen. Really, I just wanted to see you again, and say I’m sorry, and thank you.”
“First of all, you don’t need to apologize for anything—and I offered to drive you to your place, mostly for selfish reasons.”
“What’s selfish about going out of your way for someone else?”
“I wanted to spend more time with you, Lainey, without coming across as too forward or pushy.” Or scaring you off. Which seems likely with how nervous she is most of the time. I’m getting used to it, though, and it’s pretty damn endearing.
“Oh.” Her tongue sweeps across her bottom lip as she contemplates that bit of honesty. “Well, in that case, I didn’t bring the beer over just as an apology and a thank-you—I wanted to see you again too.”
“And here you are.”
“And here I am.” She blinks her big doe eyes at me, a small, shy smile on her full lips.
“If you haven’t figured it out already, I’m really happy about that, and not just because you make kick-ass twice-baked potatoes.”
That blush of hers amps up a couple of shades of pink.
I skim her warm cheek with a knuckle.
“Do I have something on my face?” Her voice is soft and whispery.
“No. You’re blushing, and it’s sweet.” I tip my head down in silent request.
“I like the way that feels.” Lainey takes a small step forward and reaches up. Her breasts brush against my diaphragm, and her very warm, soft fingers caress my cheek, mirroring the touch.
“Am I blushing too?”
“Maybe.” She bites her lip to suppress a smile.
I dip down a little more. “Lainey?”
“Yes, RJ?”
“Can I kiss you?”
“I was hoping you would, so please, yes.” She tips her chin up, and her eyes fall closed.
I curl my fingers around the delicate curve of her neck, feeling the heavy rush of blood pumping against my palm. I bend to touch my lips to hers. Her grip on my shoulders tightens, nails biting through my shirt as she makes the sweetest, softest sound. So of course I do it again—and again.
Lainey’s hand slides higher, fingertips dancing along my collar until they slip into the hair at the nape of my neck and tug. She parts her lips and flicks her tongue out. It’s all the confirmation I need that we’re on the same page. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her against me.
I suck her pouty bottom lip like I’ve wanted to since I met her and follow with a nibble. She gasps and pulls away, gaze darting from my mouth to my eyes and back. “I feel that through my whole body.”
“Should I do it again?”
She nods once and whispers, “Please, yes, and thank you.”
So I do it again, and I’m rewarded by yet another sweet gasp, followed by a low moan.
The kiss goes from tentative exploration to frantic in seconds. Dishes forgotten, we stand in front of the sink and make out. It feels a lot like it did when I was back in high school with my first-ever girlfriend, when everything was new. God, I’ve missed this: being with someone who’s genuinely into me. Not because I’m an NHL player—not because I have money, or a sweet ride, or any of the other reasons that typically draw women to me—but because we’re acting on a mutual attraction.