It went on and on, his booming laugh filling every space of the cozy cottage.
“Okay,” she muttered, but he probably didn’t hear her over his own howling. “That wasn’t meant to be that funny.”
Finally, he stopped laughing and rubbed his abs like he’d injured them. Meeting her disdainful gaze, he slowly approached her, the light of her hilarity still dancing in his eyes.
She tried to be annoyed, but his joy was contagious. Her lips twitched, only to falter when he cupped her jaw.
“No, princess. Peace and quiet aren’t in your wheelhouse.” His thumb traced the line of her cheekbone, his eyes growing serious. His gaze locked with hers, his eyes glimmering, before he said, “And I wouldn’t have you any other fucking way.”
Silence stretched, heavy and charged. The air around them thickened with something dangerously close to insatiable, unshakable desire. The warmth in her belly grew heavy, need pooling between her legs. She couldn’t have torn her gaze from his if a gun were held to her head. The world could’ve been crumbling around them, and still he would’ve been the center of her universe.
How had this happened? When?
When he’d moved into the apartment across from hers so he could keep an eye on her twenty-four-seven? Whenhe’d run onto the street searching for a threat because she’d seen a flash of light? When he’d stayed up all night building a stage for her? When he’d slept on her couch so she wouldn’t feel alone? Or when he’d crawled to her, kneeled between her legs like she was an altar, and feasted on her like she was his salvation?
Could all of their spats be a kind of foreplay leading to this moment? This moment that pounded between them like a heartbeat? This moment, where he was accepting her just as she was, and she had a chance to tell him that she accepted him in the same way?
Tell him.
She opened her mouth, but he dropped his hand from her chin and stepped back.
“The bedroom is there.” He pointed to a door beside the kitchen. “And that one is the bathroom.” He nodded to a second door closer to where she was standing in the living room.
When he moved to the front door to pick up the bag Natalie had packed for her, the air grew cold. She wrapped her arms around herself to stem her shivers.
He must have caught the movement because he said, “I’ll throw wood in the fireplace in a second. This place heats up pretty quick.”
It wasn’t the temperature that had chilled her, but she decided not to tell him that. Instead, she followed him to the bedroom in silence.
When he opened the door, one massive glaring detail hit her, sending a prickle down her spine that was both sharp with panic and burning with hope. “There’s only one bed.”
And what a huge bed it was, taking up almost the entire room. The navy-blue bedding was practical and plain, with none of the frilly throw pillows she liked having on her ownbed. Still, it managed to look so comfortable she was tempted to sink onto it now. She bet it smelled like him. Warm leather and pine.
He walked to the corner of the room and set her bag on a pretty chair painted a sunny yellow. “Yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll sleep on the couch. It’s a pull-out.”
He watched her from the opposite side of the room, looking how she felt. Torn, confused, hesitant. “I don’t have much by way of groceries, but I think there are a few cans of soup in the cupboard. I don’t have any of that bubbly wine you like, but?—”
“Jordan, it’s fine. This is all fine.” She was in the cutest cottage by the beach alone with a man who turned her on simply by saying the wordsoup, but she was fine.
She wanted him to tear every article of clothing off her weary body with his teeth, but she was fine.
She wanted him to ease this ache in her heart and between her legs with his hands and his mouth and his big, beautiful body, but she was fine.
A man was somewhere out there, obsessed with stalking her, but she was fine.
She was fine, because Jordan Thompson was looking at her like she’d hung the moon, like she could soothe every hurt he’d ever had with her smile alone. Like she was the end of the line for him.
But instead of saying any of that, she said, “I’m going to freshen up a bit.”
He stared at her like he wanted to say something too, but the words wouldn’t come. The tight, pained flicker in his eyes said everything for him. She wanted to scream at him to stop fighting it. To name whatever thrummed between them. Or if he couldn’t say it, todosomething about it. Because she couldn’t be the only one this consumed.
But expecting him to be brave meant she should be too.
So when he exhaled, gave a faint nod, and walked past her out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him, part of her was almost grateful.
With a loud, forlorn sigh, she unzipped the bag and promptly let out a startled laugh, because the first thing she saw was a tube of lubricant and her favorite pink vibrator in its clear travel case sitting on a stack of lace thongs. An envelope was taped to the case.
Ripping it open, she yanked out a notecard.
