We climb the porch steps. He enters a code, and the double doors swing open with a soft click.
Light floods the entryway, and my breath catches.
“Oh wow…”
The inside is even more beautiful, warm wood everywhere, tall windows, a stone fireplace stretching to the ceiling, leather couches, woven blankets, soft lamplight glowing like candle flames. It feels… safe.
Ethan leads me into the living room, stops in front of the fireplace, and pulls me against him. His mouth finds mine, slow, claiming, and when he pulls back, his breath is unsteady.
“Let me start the fire.” His grin appears, that devastating dimple flashing.“Wine, beer, or hot chocolate?”
“Wine,” I breathe. God, I’ll need it. Nerves, excitement, longing, everything inside me is one buzzing, trembling storm.
He hangs our coats, then rolls up his sleeves, revealing those muscled forearms, and I swear my mouth goes bone-dry.
He catches me looking and smirks.
“You keep lookin’at me like that, sweetheart, and I won’t need to light a fire. You’re settin’me on fire just fine.”
Heat rushes up my neck.“Sorry… you just look…”
He waits, eyebrow raised.
“Edible,” I whisper.
His smirk dies.
His eyes turn hungry, dark, heated, possessive.
“I’ve been thinking about eating you all night,” he says, voice dropping an octave.“But I like to take my time with you.”
My pulse trips over itself.
He kneels, arranges logs with care, and lights the fire. The glow spreads through the room, flickering over his face as hestands and moves to the kitchen. A moment later, he returns with wine, cheese, and two glasses. He taps something on his phone and soft country music hums softly through the room.
He sits beside me, close enough that his scent wraps around me.
He pours the wine and hands me a glass.
“To being the luckiest man alive because I get to have you with me tonight,” he says softly.
My heart flips.“To being the luckiest woman alive because I’m here with you.”
We clink.
A song I love comes on,“Joy of My Life”, and Ethan stands, offering his hand.
“Dance with me.”
God help me, I do.
He pulls me against him, one hand resting on my waist, the other holding mine. His breath brushes my ear as he begins to softly sing the lyrics, and warmth blooms through me like a sunrise.
His hand slides from my waist to my bare back, fingertips drawing slow circles. Every cell in me ignites.
He leans his forehead against mine, eyes molten, then kisses me, slow at first, then deeper, like he’s tasting something he’s craved for a very long time.
“You taste like strawberries and wine,” he whispers.
