"Okay," I whispered.
He kissed me then—gentle and unhurried. His hand still gripping my jaw, thumb stroking my cheekbone.
When he pulled back, he pointed at the coffee table. "Thai food's getting cold."
"Don't care."
"You need to eat."
"Later." I pulled him back in.
This kiss was deeper. His hand slid from my jaw to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair.
I shifted closer, ignoring the protest from my shoulder. I reached for his waist and pulled him against me.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
"Food," Rhett said.
"Yeah." I stared into his eyes. "You're staying tonight."
"If you want me to."
"I want you to."
"Okay." He kissed me again—quick and sweet. "But first—" He stood, pulled me up with him. "Shower. You reek like rink funk, and your shoulder needs heat."
"Bossy."
"You like it."
He was right. I did.
He steered me toward the bathroom, turned on the shower, and adjusted the temperature while I stripped down. When steam started fogging the mirror, he pulled his own shirt over his head.
I watched. Couldn't help it. Took in the lines of his lean muscle.
"You're staring," he said.
"You're in my bathroom taking your clothes off. What'd you expect?"
"Fair."
Under the water, he was careful with my shoulder—testing the bruise with gentle fingers and working the tension from my neck with steady pressure. His hands knew exactly where I was tight and sore.
"How do you—" I started.
"I pay attention." He found a knot near my collarbone and pressed with his thumb. "You always carry it here when you're stressed."
The water ran hot between us. His body against mine—solid and real.
When his lips touched my neck, I stopped thinking about tomorrow, what-ifs, and dropping shoes. There was only steam, heat, and Rhett's hands exploring my body.
"Bed?" he asked against my skin.
"Yeah."
We barely made it. Fell into sheets still damp from the shower. Forgot the Thai food in the living room.
