I step closer, drawn in by his enthusiasm. “That’s the idea. I try to work with the wood’s natural grain pattern. Let it tell me what it wants to be.” I pause, gathering my courage. “It’s actually… It’s for you. For Special Blend.”
Caspian’s hand stills on the wood. He turns to face me, eyes wide. “What? But you said you don’t take commissions.”
“It’s a gift,” I explain quickly, suddenly nervous. “You said you wanted a bookcase for your book corner, and I thought… Well, I started working on it the night we went ice skating.” I rub the back of my neck, feeling heat creep up my face.
“Nate,” Caspian says softly, and when I look at him, his eyes are shining. “I can’t believe you made this for me.”
“It’s nothing, really,” I breathe, caught in his gaze. “I mean, I know you wanted one for the coffee shop, so…”
He moves closer, his hair slightly damp from the melted snow from our walk across the driveway.
The rest of my sentence disappears as Caspian closes the distance between us, his lips finding mine with startling urgency. His hands grip the front of my sweater, pulling me closer as my back hits the workbench. The kiss is different from last night’s—less hesitant, more demanding—and I respond in kind, one hand sliding into his hair while the other wraps around his waist.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. Caspian’s eyes are dark, searching my face as if looking for answers to questions he hasn’t asked yet.
“Sorry,” he whispers, though he doesn’t loosen his grip on my sweater. “I just…you made me a bookcase…”
I lean forward, resting my forehead against his. “Yeah,” I breathe. “I did.”
“Nate,” he whispers. “I think I want to skip the talk about last night and go straight to what happens after.”
CHAPTER 18
CASPIAN
Nate’s strong hands grip the backs of my thighs, lifting me as if I weigh nothing. The heat in his eyes makes my head spin in the best possible way, and I can’t help but pull him closer between my legs.
My heart hammers, butterflies in my stomach. I know this is insanity, but I don’t care. I lean in, our lips mere centimeters apart, and whisper, “I thought you were going to show me your tools?”
Nate’s eyes darken, and a low growl rumbles in his chest. “Then you shouldn’t have kissed me,” he purrs, his voice dripping with equal parts seduction and mischief. In one swift motion, he pushes me back against the workbench, pinning my wrists above my head.
A shiver shoots down my spine, curling deep in my belly as he leans in, his lips brushing against my ear as he speaks. “I’m a hairbreadth away from throwing caution to the wind, Caspian,” he whispers, his warm breath sending tingles down my neck.
“I think we did that the moment we kissed last night.”
Nate’s grin widens into a mischievous smirk before he releases my wrists. I wrap my legs around Nate’s waist, clinging to him like a koala as he lifts me off the workbench. His strong arms support me effortlessly, and I marvel at how secure I feel in his embrace. My heart races with excitement and trust as he carries me through the house.
“Where are we going?” I tease, nuzzling into his neck.
Nate chuckles, the vibration rumbling through his chest. “Patience, city boy. You’ll see in a second.”
As we move, I drink in every detail—the flex of his muscles, the warmth of his skin even through his clothes, the intoxicating scent that’s uniquely Nate. It’s like being wrapped in the coziest, sexiest blanket ever.
We reach a door, and Nate nudges it open with his foot. The bedroom. My breath catches as we enter, taking in the rumpled sheets on an unmade bed. The room smells like Nate—a heady mix of pine, musk, and something indefinably masculine.
“No going back now,” he says as he drops me on the bed, covering my body with his.
I silence him with a kiss. “Trust me,” I murmur against his lips, “I would rather gnaw my arm off than stop this.”
Nate’s lips curve into a smile against mine, and suddenly, we’re both fumbling with clothes, eager hands exploring newly exposed skin. I tug at his flannel shirt, buttons flying as I yank it open.
“Oops,” I giggle, not feeling sorry at all.
“Impatient, are we?” Nate teases, his eyes dancing with mirth.
“Can you blame me?” I shoot back, running my hands over his now-bare chest.
Nate’s response is to grip the hem of my sweater, pulling it over my head in one smooth motion. His breath hitches as he takes in my torso, and I feel a flush of pride. I know any muscles he can see aren’t because I work out. They’re because I’m skinny, but Nate seems to like what he sees.
