“Guess so.” She finally meets my eyes, and there’s something vulnerable there. “Is that... should I be worried?”
“No.” I squeeze her hand. “Just your system readjusting. Nothing to worry about.”
She relaxes, and her thumb traces a circle on my palm. The touch sends heat straight through me.
“Theo had you all afternoon.” I lift her hand to my mouth, press a kiss to her knuckles. She shivers. “I think it’s my turn.”
Her breath catches. “Your turn?”
“Mmhmm.” I hold her gaze, let her see everything I’m feeling. “That okay with you?”
She looks at Theo. He’s leaning back in his chair, completely relaxed, that easy smile playing at his lips.
“Go on,” he says. “I’ll clean up out here.”
She looks at him, and something soft passes between them. He just grins and waves a hand toward the bedroom.
“I’ll be here when you’re done. Take your time.”
She turns back to me, cheeks pink, eyes bright. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I stand, still holding her hand. “That’s all I get? Just ‘okay’?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.” I pull her to her feet, tugging her close until we’re chest to chest. “Maybe something like ‘yes, Lucas, I’ve been dreaming about you for weeks and I can’t wait another second’?”
She laughs, and the sound loosens something in my chest. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously handsome? Ridiculously charming?”
“Ridiculously full of yourself.”
“That too.” I dip my head, brush my lips against her ear. “But you like it.”
“Maybe.” Her voice has gone breathy. “A little.”
“Then let me show you what else you might like.” I pull back, meet her eyes. “If you want.”
“I want.” She rises on her toes and kisses me, soft and sweet. “I really, really want.”
I grin against her mouth. “Then let’s go.”
The cottage hasone small bedroom. Just big enough for a double bed, a dresser, and a window that looks out over the mountains. The last of the sunset is painting everything gold and pink.
I close the door behind us, and the click of the latch sounds very loud in the quiet.
Cara stands in the middle of the room, wearing Theo’s clothes, her scent filling the small space. She’s nervous—I can see it in the slight tremor in her hands, the way she’s holding herself like she’s not sure what comes next.
My brain does this. Notices everything. Catalogs details. It’s useful in the clinic. Less useful when I’m trying to be romantic.
“We don’t have to do anything,” I say. “If you’re not ready. We can just cuddle. I just want to be close to you.”
“Lucas.” She turns to face me, and her expression makes my chest ache. “I’ve had ten years. I don’t need more time.”
“What do you need?”
“You.” She closes the distance between us, stops with her palms flat against my chest. I can feel my own heartbeat accelerating under her touch. “I need you.”
