But it could be,a small voice whispers.You know it. You’ve known since the first time you met him.
All too soon, Caleb ends the kiss, drawing away from me with a regretful expression. He trails his thumb across my swollen lips as he says, “I could have kissed you longer. But with it being our first time… I didn’t want to push.”
The flames of hope turn into an inferno.
Maybe coming to Bliss was a good idea, after all.
“It was a great kiss,” I tell him. “And I appreciate you wanting to take things slowly. But.” A slow smile lifts my lips. “Maybe for our second kiss, we could do it for longer.”
Caleb stares at me. His eyes light to a bright, sky blue. Then he smiles. “Yes. I think we definitely could.”
CHAPTER 8
CALEB
I can’t remember the last time I watched a movie with a woman.
Well, aside from watchingMiracle on 34th Streetwith my parents this past Christmas Eve, but that doesn’t count. For that one, I was sprawled on the couch while my parents were each stationed in their fancy recliners, and my mom was dabbing her eyes with a tissue while my dad kept dozing off. The only company I had on the couch was their Pekinese, Cooper, who was fast asleep and twitching while he dreamed.
Not to say that watching a classic Christmas movie with my parents wasn’t nice. It was, in a comforting, nostalgic sort of way.
But the last time I watched a movie with a woman I was actually interested in? That’s a much harder question.
I’ve dated, of course. Had girlfriends here and there. Certainly, I would have watched movies with at least some of them.
That was years ago, though. Not since I left the Marines, and probably several years before that.
If I’m being honest, my memories of those casual relationships are so faded I don’t remember much of them at all.
My mom used to bemoan herforever single son, as she liked to put it. Or when she really wanted to lay on the guilt,her son who’d never give her a grandchild.After everything in Somalia, she stopped, more concerned about my sanity than giving her grandkids.
Whenever she used to bring it up, I’d toss out the name of some woman I’d gone on a date with, just to make her happy. But I knew I never had any intention of getting serious with any of them. I liked my life as it was, with my bachelor’s apartment and a freezer full of Hot Pockets and Tombstone pizzas.
The truth of it was—even though I didn’t know it at the time—I simply hadn’t met a woman I wanted to be serious with.
Vienna sighs and snuggles closer to me. Her hair brushes my chin, soft like silk and smelling faintly of citrus. Her hand shifts from where it was resting on my thigh, moving an inch or so higher.
I don’t think she realizes what she’s doing, since she’s just trying to get comfortable.
But my body does, and it jumps to attention.
The zipper of my jeans digs in as my pants go tight.
Need throbs; low and deep.
My hands itch to peel off Vienna’s shirt to reveal what’s beneath. Which I’m pretty sure is nothing, since she’s still wearing my clothes until I take her into town to go shopping for her own tomorrow.
I glance over at her, my gaze skimming over the swell of her breasts, temptingly hidden by my old Marines sweatshirt. It’s much too big for her, reaching halfway to her knees when she’s standing, but that somehow makes her look even cuter in it. And I can’t deny the surge of possessiveness that comes with seeing her wearing my clothes.
Vienna turns her head to look at me, and I quickly shift my attention from her breasts to her face, hoping she didn’t notice. I’m not ashamed to be caught looking, but I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable or give her a reason not to trust me.
A corner of her mouth pulls up. Amusement sparks in her eyes as she asks, “Is everything okay?”
“Of course,” I reply. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Did I get sauce on your sweatshirt? Grease?”
Busted.
