Her eyes go wide, but she doesn’t stop me. Her hands brace on my chest, breath catching as her hips settle over mine. I’m already hard, have been for most of this damn day. And now there’s no hiding it. The thick ridge of my erection presses right up against her, and a soft, startled sound escapes her throat.
“Dean...” It’s a breath, not a warning.
I cup the back of her neck and pull her in.
The kiss is deep and slow and reverent, like I need to taste her just to remind myself she’s real. Her fingers dig into my shirt, her body pressing closer, and when we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
We stay like that for a beat. Foreheads pressed together, the fire crackling low behind us, the rest of the world falling away.
Then I move.
I stand abruptly, hauling her up with me like she weighs nothing. She yelps in surprise as I toss her over my shoulder, her laughter muffled against my back.
“Dean!”
I don’t answer.
I just carry her inside, one hand on the curve of her ass, and kick the door shut behind us.
She screams my name three more times before I let her fall asleep early the next morning.
Chapter 11
Harper
I wake up slowly, surrounded by a familiar warmth and the scent of pine and sawdust. Last night comes rushing back, and heat floods my cheeks.
Dean's arm is heavy around my waist, his breath steady against my neck. I feel... peaceful. Right. I just wish I knew if he felt the same way.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
It's Jake.
*Pipes fixed ahead of schedule. Heat and water restored. You can return any time.*
I stare at the message, feeling oddly conflicted. I should be relieved. I can finally start work on the bookstore. The space below my apartment has been sitting empty while I've been stuck here, all my renovation plans on hold.
"Everything okay?" Dean's voice is carefully neutral.
"They fixed the pipes." I try to keep my tone light. "At my apartment."
He's quiet for a moment. When he speaks, there's something guarded in his voice. "That's... good. You can get back to your plans."
"Yeah." I roll over to face him, catching the flash of uncertainty in his eyes before he masks it. "The contractor's probably wondering where I disappeared to."
"Right." He sits up slowly, running a hand through his hair. "You should... you should get back to that."
"I should." I watch him pull on his jeans, missing his warmth already. "Dean—"
"I'll make coffee." He manages a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You probably want to get packed up."
The door closes softly behind him, and I press my face into his pillow, breathing in the scent of pine and sawdust and trying to ignore the ache in my chest.
I have a dream to chase. A little bookstore with reading nooks and coffee and everything I've always wanted.
So why does it suddenly feel like I might be leaving something even more important behind?
I force myself out of his bed. Our bed? No, definitely his bed – and gather my clothes from where they ended up scattered across the floor. The shower helps clear my head, even though using his shampoo probably doesn't help matters. Now I'll smell like him all day.
