“You keep saying that.”
“It’s true.”
I swallow. “I haven’t—it’s been a while since… any of this.” My face goes hot. “You go on enough bad dates and start to think the problem is you.”
He turns toward me. “Who made you think that?”
I laugh without humor. “Oh, you know. The Internet. Exes. Aunt Carol at Thanksgiving.”
“Carol’s an idiot.”
“You haven’t even met Carol.”
“She’s still an idiot.”
It makes me smile because he means it.
I shrug. “I can give off this too-much vibe. I know I’m too loud, for example. Men like to tell you they want confidence until they meet a woman who has some.”
He studies me. “I don’t want you any less than you are.”
So, he wants me? Well, okay then.
I don’t know what to do with that fact, so I tuck my feet under me and fold into the couch more, turning to face him. The blanket slides again. His hand moves and ends up on the outside of my thigh, still over the blanket.
“Tell me to stop, Cookie.” His voice is raw and needy, and if he thinks I’m telling him to stop, he’s got another think coming.
“No,” I say quickly, then laugh at myself. “I mean, I’ll tell you if I want you to. But I don’t. Not right now.”
His hand slips under the blanket, letting his warm palm touch my bare skin.
My heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest and snuggle next to his; it’s so excited.
He waits a beat, then drags his hand from my knee to my mid-thigh and back, a patient stroke that makes me want to beg for more. The sweater hem is right there. If he pushes?—
He doesn’t, though. He leans in slowly, watching my face. The heat from his body makes me suck in a breath.
Own me, Red, please.
“Yeah.” It comes out a whisper.
He cups my jaw with his other hand, his thumb at the corner of my mouth, and I sway toward him instinctively.
He’s going to do it?—
The first kiss is not soft. It’s demanding. He presses his mouth to mine and then deepens it the second I sigh.
That’s all it take for me to melt against him.
His lips are firm and warm. He tastes like coffee and something that’s just him. When I kiss him back, he groans, the sound sending heat through me and coiling in my belly.
I slide my hand up his chest, my fingers skimming over the solid muscle, his collarbone, and his neck. He shudders when my nails graze his skin.
He’s literally perfection.
He kisses like a man who’s missed kissing for too long. He’s hungry yet savoring it.
His hand leaves my face, and slides down, finding my waist. He tugs, pulling me across the couch until I’m half in his lap. Bear thumps his tail, and for one second, I think about laughing. But then Red’s hand settles over my hip—and it’s possessive in a way that shouldn’t make me feel safe but does—and laughter is not on the menu.
