Grant leaned back and stretched out his arms on the cushions. “Well then, go ahead. Show me how to do it the right way.”
Challenged and delighting in the lighthearted play, she pushed the blanket down and leaned against him, startled at the press of his hard chest against her breasts, even through layers of clothes.
His eyes darkened. “I’ve always been good at tests.”
“Me too.”
She kissed him, this time sliding her tongue into his mouth, tasting him as she wound her arms around his shoulders and pressed their bodies together.
He tensed, groaned, and kissed her back, and she could see how restrained he’d been before. But as he ravaged her right back, his mouth and lips seducing her into wanting more, she realized she’d lost whatever had been holding her back for so long.
Grant didn’t put a hand on her, but he didn’t need to. One kiss turned into another, and then he was kissing his way down her neck, sucking at her pulse, and she was moaning and writhing against him, straddling that big body and that even bigger bulge between his legs.
Straddling him? When had that happened? She froze.
So he froze.
She blinked down at him, conscious of his hands gripping the couch cushions the way she’d been gripping the blanket now half on the floor.
He looked beautiful, was all she could think, with those full lips and half-lidded eyes, his hair golden and glowing under the ambient light from the kitchen and fire. He made her ache, physically and emotionally.
And that emotional pull worried her.
She hurriedly sat back and lunged off him, trying to gather the blanket once more.
“So, did I pass?” he asked, his voice like gravel. He sounded sexy.
“Pass?” She sounded like a squeak toy.
“Your test. I wasn’t slimy, was I?” He ran a hand through his hair, and it pleased her to see that hand not so steady.
At least it wasn’t just me. “Not slimy, no. You’re a good kisser.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice.”
They both paused, and she couldn’t believe he’d admit that aloud. Then again, this was Grant Weston, truth teller extraordinaire. She’d always liked that about him. Even now, when his groan told her he hadn’t meant to admit that.
“Congratulations?” she said, trying to laugh when he hid his face behind a pillow.
He mumbled something.
“What’s that?”
It sounded like he answered something something and “...I practiced for you.”
She paused. “Did you just say you practiced for me?” What the hell did that mean?
He tossed the pillow, shot her a bright smile, and darted off the couch. “I think I’ll turn in. It’s been a long day.”
“It’s eight-thirty,” she said, not sure if she saw embarrassment, amazement, or chagrin on his face. Then she made the mistake of looking down and saw him looking way too excited to see her. All of him. Excited. Big. Hard.
Oh my God.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I’d better get to bed before I forget that was ‘just a kiss.’” He shocked her by coming forward for a peck on the lips before disappearing. She heard the door close then silence but for the low murmur of the television, which had apparently been on during their kiss.
No, kisses. Plural.
Shocked yet strangely happy she’d scared a grown man to hide away in his bedroom, Piper focused on the television and watched some house flipper show while waiting for Jenna to come home.
