I squint my eyes to get a better look myself and decide I really like the matte finish of the third one. The way it softens with the natural light coming in yet remains dark enough that it will set the tone for a cozy sleep environment. “I’m leaning toward the middle, maybe the cooler tone of Windy Blue,” I say, pointing to the one I’m referring to.
Without waiting for any direction, Jase grabs the large roller leaning against the wall and dunks it in the paint, rolling it up against the wall. Paint spills out of the tray as his roller drips along the plastic protective film I set up to cover the hardwood floor.
“Jase, you’re making a mess,” I shout, watching how he turns my neatly organized workspace into something that looks like it’s being painted by a group of four-year-olds. “You're being too heavy on the roller,” I say, picking up the other roller and standing on my toes to show him how I dip it in the paint and roll out any excess that may bubble up on the wall creating drippingsthat will change the texture as it dries. I softly stride the roller up the opposite wall. “You’ll get streaks if you do it like that. You’re using too much paint.”
He snorts. “Since when are you the boss of painting? I thought you said you always outsourced this in your projects.”
“I’m a professional designer, Jase,” I shoot back, flashing him a quick grin over my shoulder. “It’s not my responsibility to take on the painting portion of a project, but that doesn’t mean I’m not an expert on what the job should look like. Anyone could walk in here and tell you that is not the way to paint,” I say, pointing out the mess he’s made.
Every brushstroke of my roller is smooth, every move precise to make the paint look flawless as it blends.
He runs a hand through his hair, streaking his blonde tresses with blue highlights as he watches me, amusement clear in his expression.
“What?” I ask, my brows furrowed as I tilt my head to look at him. I’m feeling uncomfortable under his meticulous gaze, and with admiration in his eyes.
“The paint choices are perfect. The cool-toned light blues and cream colors blend perfectly with the light oak furniture I purchased. Not to mention, they are an exquisite complement to the slightly darker floors.”
I’m momentarily stunned until I see the smirk that creeps along his lips. He’s fucking teasing me. I roll my eyes again, annoyed that he’s being so playful with me. “Wow, look at you speaking like a designer.” It’s meant sarcastically, but that's not the way Jase takes it.
“What can I say? I’ve learned a thing or two.” His smile is infectious, and as much as I want to seem annoyed that he’s joined me in this, I can’t help feeling drawn by his pull.
The way he so casually walked in here to help me instead of being upset I was taking over the room in his home. Howeffortlessly gorgeous he looks in his distressed jeans and light gray henley he loves to wear. Jase is a charmer, his personality so infectious and it’s getting so hard to ignore.
My expression hardens when I realize how much is still unknown about our relationship, and my hand instinctively brushes across my belly for comfort. I dip the roller back into the tray and try to busy myself with painting.
He sets down his roller, which is now a dripping mess. “Alright, let me try again,” he says, holding out his hand for my roller.
I pass it to him, but our fingers brushing and lingering a second too long forces me to look up at him. I find his eyes are low, lips parting just slightly as if my nearness affects him as much as it affects me.
“You’ve got paint on your cheek,” he mutters under his breath, and I reach up to wipe it clean, but he catches my wrist gently. “Here. Let me.”
Soft, warm fingers slowly brush over my skin, smearing it away. My breath hitches, and for a heartbeat neither of us moves. If it was possible, I’d say neither of us breathes, too afraid to move and break the moment that lingers between us.
The tension is palpable, the draw so polarized I can feel it in my bones. An electrifying sensation draws me in with the force of his magnetic pull. Jase’s allure is no secret, but the way my body responds and reacts to his touch is frightening in how easily I became comfortable around him again.
He doesn’t pull away and instead swipes his thumb along my parted lips. “Got some paint here too.”
I’m frozen, unable to move or do anything but stare at the spark in his eyes as he awaits my reaction. I shake my head, the dizzying awareness of our proximity nearly clouding my vision. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he murmurs, not allowing my gaze to leave him. His grip on me tightens, his fingers softly caressing my cheek. “But you like it.”
Though just as I am about to pull away, his arm snakes around my waist and he pulls me into him, his lips crashing against mine.
His kiss is harder than expected, months of tension breaking all at once as his tongue pushes into my mouth. My hands instinctively clutch his shirt, tugging him closer, although my mind is begging me to push him away. My body seems to act of its own will. Like it’s been waiting and wanting for so long.
With his arms around me, he walks us toward the painted wall, pressing me against it as his lips leave my lips and travel down my chin. He kisses along my neck, teasing me as his hands grip my ass and press me into the rock-hard bulge in his pants. I’m desperate to feel him everywhere, arching into him as I pull his face back up to me, deepening the kiss.
For a moment, I forget about the wet paint on the wall behind me, the gravity of where we stand, painting the nursery for our baby. All I see and feel is Jase, and my body misses the way he touched me like he knew every part but was desperate to learn more.
When I finally pull back, his forehead rests against mine, both of us utterly breathless.
“Why?” I ask, curious to know more about what this all means to him.
“Because you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you don’t want this, but this is exactly what I want.”
I let out a sharp breath. “Why can’t you just forget?”
A sharp, almost menacing chuckle leaves his lips. “You think I can easily forget what happened between us as effortlessly as you have? Because I can’t, Moonshine.” His fingers softly caress my cheek and I can’t help but lean into his palm. “I can’t wipeaway the taste of your lips from my memory, let alone erase the way your body felt pressed against mine.”
