I want to spend every waking second with this man, but I know that I can’t and I shouldn’t. I want this to be more, but I don’t know that it ever can be.
What happened with that Heather woman happens a lot to Wade Callahan and I don’t want to become the next woman on that long list.
I stand up and stretch. “I should be getting a shower and get to bed. Thanks for dinner and…today, it was nice.”
He stands too. He takes a step forward, reaches out and tugs me into him. His mouth is on mine before I have time to think.
His kiss is gentle yet filled with a raw passion that sends a shot of warmth straight between my thighs. It’s so intense that I feel my knees buckle. His hands tighten around my waist as he pulls me even closer to him. I melt into him. My fingers grip his shirt, needing to cling to something so that I don’t float away.
One hand goes up to grip the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair as he tightens his grip and deepens the kiss. Our tongues tangle together, exploring and tasting.
We could just take a few steps inside and he could be inside me in no time.
Or maybe he could eat me like he did the other day. I need more of that. He can ravage my body in whatever way he wants.
I need to stop and pull myself back together. I need to take a step back and look at what’s really going on here.
I don’t want to stop, but I have to. I’m falling hard for this man, and I don’t think I have any business doing so. I don’t want to leave Hicks Creek, but I’m not sure if that’s a possible reality.
I decide to end the kiss, gently pushing him away. “We need to slow down,” I say, trying to catch my breath. “This is happening too fast.”
“You’re right. I need to give you space to breathe,” he murmurs as he looks into my eyes. “It’s hard to keep my hands to myself around you.”
“This…this shouldn’t be happening, Wade. This isn’t why I’m here. It complicates things and can make it awkward. I don’t want that.”
He takes a step back and looks at me. “I told you that I would give you space. And I will do that. I will reiterate what I said earlier, though, and I’ll repeat it however many times isnecessary for you to believe me. I want you and only you, Sutton Bishop.”
“You don’t even know me,” I breathe.
“I know enough. The rest will come. This attraction, the connection between us, is something I’ve never experienced before. You felt it that night in Texas, too. You’ve felt it since you pulled into this driveway.”
“You don’t—”
He gently grabs my face in my hands.
“Maybe you want to deny it right now for whatever reason, but you know you’ve felt it, too. I get that you’re scared, and things are up in the air crazy right now, but I’m going to make certain you know that I’m serious.”
He lets go of me, turns on his heel, and walks away while I’m still trying to register his words. I grip the nearby chair, my body still trying to settle after he kissed me.
I’ve never had a man declare anything for me.
Is he serious right now? Or is that what he says to all the women and that’s why they go crazy after?
I blow out a long breath and take a few steps toward the door. My legs feel like rubber, and my body is screaming at me to call after him.
I can’t. I don’t know if I’m prepared for what will happen if he comes back and kisses me like that again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Wade
Ijolt awake later that night, heart pounding, before my brain has a chance to catch up. The house is dark, but I hear the sound of the door, the faint creak of hinges that finally registers. My hand instinctively reaches for the rifle leaning in its usual spot in the gun safe by the nightstand. Not a soul should be coming or going at this hour.
I slip out of bed quietly. The floorboards groan under my weight as I step into the hallway, my ears straining for any sound.
The door is barely cracked open, just enough to let a thin ribbon of moonlight stretch across the kitchen floor. My gut twists as I grip the rifle tighter as I move toward the door, catching the shuffle of boots just outside. My pulse kicks up another notch.
“Who’s there?” I demand, voice low but firm, the kind of tone that cuts through any nonsense.
