I kicked off my UGGs and padded down the hallway to his kitchen. It was a blustery day. Rain had held off while he’d been working, but the darkening sky was full of dark clouds. I dug around in his fridge and found a few different kinds of cheeses and a half loaf of Italian bread.
I opened a bottle of merlot to let it breathe as I made a quick dinner of grilled cheese and tomato soup.
“Smells amazing,” he said on his way down the hall to me.
I grinned and held out a glass for him. “Nothing special.”
“I beg to differ. My idea of a grilled cheese is Wonder bread and Kraft Singles.”
I laughed. “Nothing wrong with that—well, except for the Wonder bread.” I wrinkled my nose.
He accepted the glass, giving me a heated look over the rim as he tasted the dark wine. His hair was still damp and he wore a fresh white thermal shirt over a pair of sweats. Somehow the bare feet felt more intimate than anything else.
He dipped his head, his lips tasted of wine and a hint of mint. He’d put on his aftershave and cleaned up the scruff on his neck making me wonder just what else he cleaned up under all that soft cotton.
I couldn’t help myself from dipping my fingers under the hem of his thermal shirt to tease the soft hair at his belly. His muscles rippled and he jerked away.
“Ticklish?”
“Maybe.”
I trailed my fingers up the ridges of his abs then back down to rest at his hip. “I can’t seem to stop touching you.”
“I can’t say I mind.” He brushed his lips over my jaw to my ear. “I’ll spend the entire evening touching you if you let me.”
I gave him access to my neck. “You’re far too good at this.”
He leaned back. “At what?”
“The whole seduction thing.” I turned away from him and lifted my wine. It didn’t quench my thirst, so I took my bowl and plate instead.
“It’s you I want to touch, not just because you’re an available body, Amber.”
I set my plate down with a clatter. I gripped the edge of the breakfast nook’s table. “I’m sorry.”
He came up behind me and lightly squeezed my shoulders. “You must have known some real assholes.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Being around musicians can be hazardous to your health and your underwear.”
He lowered his mouth to the nape of my neck. “Is that so?”
My chin touched my chest as I let him kiss me there. As I enjoyed the way his nose brushed my skin right before the heaviness of his beard painted my skin pink. “I got burned a few times. Believing sex was more than just sex.”
His teeth grazed my ear. “And that’s why you think I’m the same?”
“It can be just sex.”
He paused “And if I don’t agree?”
I turned in his arms. “How do you know?”
“I know the difference between a sweaty hookup and what’s going on between us.” His green eyes were intense and focused on me. There was no smolder. No sly seduction. It was just Tate with his sea glass eyes and heavy brows. His lips already stained red from the wine, his insanely appealing face that made my knees weak. He was so open.
I wanted to trust it so very badly.
I linked my arms around his waist and buried my face into the waffle texture of his shirt, to burrow into the heat of him.
His arms came around me, one hand cupping the back of my head. He felt too good. I’d learned over the years that good things were lost to the stresses of my life. To the aggressivepaparazzi and vitriolic reports that hammered at everything soft inside of me.
