He nodded. “I like my privacy, too.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee? Something else to drink?”
“Coffee is fine.”
“Have a seat and I’ll get that for you,” she said.
Rawley smiled. “Alright.”
She smiled, brushing back a loose strand of hair. “I have a K-cup machine. It won’t take long. I’ll be right back.”
He turned toward the living room, placed his hat brim-up on the arm of an overstuffed armchair, then wandered back. She stood at the counter while she waited for the coffee to brew. He walked to where she stood, turned his back to the counter, folded his arms, and stared at her. He was bone tired. A grin tugged at him at the thought of the guys at work, always teasing him for being hungry or tired. He’d tell them to add horny, and they’d have him pegged.
He’d had a restless night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Skylar, and his pulse hammered. He hadn’t been with anyone in a while, but thinking of her turned want into wildfire.
The coffee hissed and steam rose from the cup as Skylar removed it and handed it to him. Even in crimson sweatpants that hugged the gentle curve of her hips and a faded black T-shirt that slipped tantalizingly off one shoulder, revealing a glimpse of smooth collarbone, she was breathtaking. She met his eyes with that easy smile of hers, dimples appearing at the corners of her lips, and suddenly his ribs felt too tight, his heart skipping a beat like a stone across still water.
“I hope you’re hungry,” she said.
Rawley chuckled. “I’m always hungry. It’s a running joke at the office. Hungry or tired.”
“Do they tease you about it?” Her eyebrows arched with curiosity.
“Yeah, but it’s fine. I work with a good bunch.”
“I wanted to ask you, what does the ‘J’ in your name stand for?”
“Jamison.”
“I like that.” Her lips curved upward, the simple phrase somehow intimate.
“That’s my father’s name and his middle name is Rawley. Everyone who knows him, calls him J.B.” He lifted the steaming cup, blew on it sending ripples across the dark surface, then took a small sip. “Damn, that’s good.”
“Please have a seat in the living room and I’ll check dinner.”
“It smells good, or maybe that’s you,” he said as he stepped closer to her, drawn by the subtle scent of vanilla and something uniquely Skylar.
“It’s the chicken,” she replied, a blush coloring her cheeks.
Rawley laughed. “I beg to differ. Could I have a kiss?”
“Yes, please.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Rawley leaned down, pressed his lips to hers and kissed her. He lifted his lips, set his cup down on the countertop with a soft clink, then put his arms around her waist, his hands spanningthe small of her back, lowered his head and kissed her deeply and passionately. And he felt it all the way to his toes, a current of electricity running through him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers threading through his hair as she leaned into him, kissing him back with equal fervor.
He raised his lips, rested his forehead against hers and gazed into her eyes.
“I like you, Skylar,” he whispered, his voice rough with feeling. “I’d love to keep seeing you, if that’s what you want.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she nibbled on her bottom lip. “I do. I like you too. You, Rawley Jamison Bowman, are too damn handsome for your own good.”
“I’m sorry?” He arched an amused eyebrow.
She laughed. “You’re terrible. Now, please, go sit down while I get dinner on the table.”
His grin was slow. “Yes, ma’am.” He lifted his coffee mug, warm in his hand, and strolled into the living room. The sofa was strewn with a soft throw blanket and a couple of pillows.
“The remote should be there somewhere if you want to watch something.”
