A groan rumbles from his throat and I feel it vibrate through him and right into me.
‘Alex.’ His name falls from my lips like a desperate hiss. ‘God,Alex—’
Hoxton pulls away abruptly, leaving me gasping for air and panting heavily. Our eyes lock, each other’s breath swirling in the hazy air between us. I’m not sure if it’s shock or something else that’s caused the abrupt halt, but my heart races and my mind scrambles to catch up to this new sensory onslaught.
He stares at me, eyes wide, lips swollen and red.
He shakes his head, visibly trying to gather his thoughts. ‘Noelle,’ he says finally, his voice a mix of urgency and vulnerability.
My heart stutters in my chest.
‘We shouldn’t… I mean,Ishouldn’t…’
I stand frozen, the taste of strawberry cream still lingering on my lips, which just seconds ago were happily pressed againsthisand it felt like every Christmas light in the universe had suddenly sparked to life inside me.
Hoxton takes a step back, a crease of regret – or is it panic? – etching his brow.
‘I’m sorry,’ he mutters, a deep flush spreading under the tanned skin of his cheeks.
‘It’s fine,’ I manage to stutter out, my heart rate slowing down just a bit. ‘You didn’t… I mean, I wanted to, so…’
But he’s already retreating, all wide-eyed and ready to bolt. A small part of me finds it a little endearing – the whole deer-in-headlights look he’s got going on right now, but then he twists away from me and starts making frantic strides towards the door. A wave of hurt slams into me but I push through it and fix what Ihopeis a nonchalant expression onto my face.
‘Hold up,’ I call out, snatching a wooden spoon from the countertop with more flair than necessary. Hoxton ignores me, one hand on the door. Hurt makes way for a flash of panic and I raise my voice ever so slightly, praying that he mistakes the crack in my tone for something else entirely. ‘You think you can just waltz in here, turn my kitchen upside down, kiss me senseless, and then what?’ I force a dry laugh, like I’m not actively fighting the feeling of rejection that’s currently seeping into my very bones right now. ‘Sprint to safety and leave me to clean everything up? Not on my watch.’
He stops, hesitating in the doorway. He turns to face me, a kaleidoscope of emotions flashing over his face. ‘I don’t want to make—’
‘Make things awkward?’ I finish for him, a brow raised,hands on my hips. The picture of indifference. ‘Too late for that.’
He winces, but I ignore it and turn away so he can’t see the hurt that must surely be written across my face.
‘Fine,’ he relents. ‘But only because I’m partly responsible for… this.’
I’m not entirely sure if he means the flour-dusted counters, the splatters of icing here and there, or the crackling tension between us. Whatever the answer is, he’s not wrong.
My heart is still racing. I can still feel the heat of Hoxton’s body lingering on mine. Can still remember exactly how he tasted as his tongue slid against mine.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves and focus on the task at hand. We can’tbothhave mini panic attacks now, can we? One of us has to keep their head and it seems like Hoxton’s unilaterally handed that role over to me.
Rude.
His movements are deliberate, almost robotic, as he wipes down the counters and sweeps up the mess of flour that spilled everywhere. He keeps a deliberate distance between us, never getting close enough for our fingers to accidentally brush as we work. It’s hard to believe that just five minutes ago we were wrapped in an embrace so tight, we could put a pretzel to shame.
As we work, I steal glances at Hoxton out of the cornerof my eye. His face is flushed, practically the same colour as the strawberries we’d been working with earlier. His eyes are downcast, focused on his task, but I can see the tension in his jaw and the way his hands grip the dishrag tightly as he methodically runs it along the counter.
I can’t decide how I’m feeling right now. Relief that our brief moment of intimacy has passed.
Longing for it to return.
Frustration at the interruption.
Annoyed that Hoxton has decided to retreat into himself instead of using his words like a grown man.
And curious, so damn curious, about what might have happened if he hadn’t pulled away.
Eve answers on the first ring. It’s my first nugget of human contact in hours bar Hoxton and just the sight of her grinning face makes some of the tension I’m feeling evaporate.
The man in question has been dodging me since our baking session-turned-clash-of-lips earlier, and I can’t pretend like it’s not getting to me. It’s ridiculous how one kiss – or rather, the abrupt end to one – can make this huge house feel so empty. The lack of human contact, or any noise aside from the violentwhooshingof the wind outside, has been gnawing at me for hours. Even if Hoxton wasn’t stubbornly freezing himself to death just to avoid me, I’mnot sure he’d cut it in the human contact department right now anyway.
