All the information I learned throughout the day is in the forefront of my mind, and I can’t sleep. My thoughts keep drifting back to Gray’s eyes on me in the library, the shift in the room’s energy, and how it wrapped itself around me. Only this time, it was warm and I wanted to stand there with him longer.
The day I first met him, before he knew who I was, I felt the same type of energy, only stronger. When he learned who I was, it was like someone flipped a switch, hot then cold, so fast it made my head spin.
I can’t lie here anymore, I need a drink of water or something.
If only they had wine.
Throwing the covers off, I bundle up in the heavy sweater and socks at the foot of the bed. The house has consistently stayed between fifty and sixty degrees since the power went out, and I tuck my fingers under my arms to keep them warm.
I also learned today that Lainey Rai is scared of the dark, so lit oil lamps are strategically placed around the house with the wicks turned down really low to act as nightlights. A memory of being scared when I was even younger than Lainey Rai crosses my mind, and I can hear my dad saying,‘we won’t have nightlights in this house, that’s a crutch you don’t need. There’s nothing to be scared of’.
Glancing at the oil lamp sitting on the island in the kitchen, a deep sigh escapes my chest and I squash the memory.
Opening the cabinet doors to look for regular glasses, I find them on the shelf above the coffee cups. Who mixes coffee cups with regular drinking glasses in the cabinet? Both are equally important and they each deserve a bottom shelf.
One that I can reach.
Mumbling to myself, I pull a barstool over to the counter and climb up onto my knees to get a glass. “Everybody knows you put glasses in a different cabinet than coffee cups.”
“There’s a step stool in the pantry.” Gray’s baritone breaks through the silence of the room, he’s standing in the doorway in sweats and a long sleeve thermal shirt that’s molded to his chest and arms. When I turn my head to look at him, the barstool wobbles and the seat turns enough to shakemy balance on my knees.
Windmilling my arms, I reach for the cabinet door to steady myself. I hear Gray mumble, “Shit.”
His hands land on each side of my ribs, his fingertips digging into my skin. My front leans against his as he pulls me to him to keep me steady, my hand lands on his shoulder, our heads at the same height. His nose is just inches from mine and I suck in a breath when I see the heat in his eyes.
His chest is hard against mine and the muscles of his shoulders move under my palms when he adjusts his grip. But he doesn’t let go.
Flames lick my skin, wrapping around me like a ribbon before moving low into my center. Even through my clothes, my skin burns under his touch and I don’t move. I don’t want him to let go. His thumbs are just under my breasts, on my ribs, and my nipples peak, pushing against his chest.Can he feel that?
The tiniest of growls rumbling in his chest answers my question, and I feel the breath of the exhale on my chin. His eyes dip to my lips and then back up to mine, desire is looking back at me. Is he asking for permission?
Sliding my hands closer to his neck, I softly graze my thumbs along his warm skin, his stubble scratching the pads. His smoky scent drifts into my nose and I breathe him in.
One hand lets go of my ribs, but before disappointment can set in, he cups my cheek with that hand, his fingers looping around my neck. His other hand slides to my back and just as I look down at his lips, they land on mine.
He’s soft and warm and the stubble lining his lips softly scratches the skin around mine and my chin, a delicious combination of stimulation and masculinity. Heat pools in my core and I want to know what it feels like to feel that soft scratch in other places. When his tongue slides along the seam of my lips, asking for passage, I open to him and wrap myarms around his neck.
The kiss becomes demanding, and he coils his arms around my body, crushing me to him, as one hand slides up my spine to grip my neck under my hair, his large palm warm and firm. Everything about him is deliciously hard and rugged and I tighten my hold around his neck, which lifts my knees from the chair, and I loop my legs around his hips.
Another growl rumbles in his chest and his hand slides down to tightly cup my butt cheek, pushing my center onto his hard length, sending tingles through my pelvis. This pulls a soft moan from me and he freezes.
His lips leave mine wanting and he touches his forehead to mine, his eyes closed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”
We are both breathing hard, his breaths hot on my chin. The haze of lust thins and I remember we are in the kitchen. “Don’t be sorry, I wanted you to.”
His grip on me loosens, and I slide down his front. He opens his eyes and locks them on mine, but I think I see regret when his eyebrows twitch closer together for just a fraction of a second.
My heart sinks. I don’t think I have ever experienced this before. I’ve never seen regret on a man’s face after kissing me and I’m not sure if I should feel disappointment or hurt, because both emotions are burning in my throat.
Instinctively, I take a step away from him, his hand stays firmly on my hip. Confusion has me looking away as I wonder what just happened. I touch my lips partly to see if maybe I slobbered on him or something. Was it that bad to kiss me? The thought makes the burn in my throat stronger.
He’s not just apologizing for kissing me, he’s also apologizing for showing me any interest because of who I am. His arms release my body and his hands lift to cup my cheeks. My eyes snap back to his and he winces when he says, “I’msorry.”
Pulling my face from his hands before my eyes tear up, I put on my smile and say, “Excuse me.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
GRAY
