“Thirty-eight,” she finishes. “I’m aware of how old you are. I can do math.”
“Exactly. I'm sixteen years older than you. I'm in the last season of my career. I'm also-”
“Hot as fuck and really good in bed?” She slides off the counter, moving closer to me. There's a look of determination in her eyes. “Because those are some of the things I'm noticing.”
“Gianna.” I exhale, catching her wrists when she reaches for me. “I'm being serious.”
“So am I.” She looks up at me, and for the first time since I woke up, I see something other than playfulness in her eyes. Something real. “You think I don't know what I want? You think because I'm twenty-two I don't know my own mind? That I can't make my own decisions?”
“I think you're young and impulsive and-”
“And what? Stupid? Naive?” There's a bite in her words when she cuts me off again. “I'm graduating magna cum laude in a month. I've been taking care of myself since I was eighteen. I know exactly what I'm doing.”
“Do you?” I challenge her. “Because from where I'm standing, you're a college student who parties too much and uses my credit card to get home from bars at three in the morning several times a week.”
“I used your credit card because you gave it to me,” she shoots back at me. “Also, I was hoping that every time I used it, you would be checking. That every time you saw a new charge, you'd be thinking about me. Don't act like you don't care, Daemon. If you didn't, you wouldn't have left it for me in the first place.”
She's right. Fuck, I know she's right.
“That doesn't mean this is a good idea. That doesn't mean we should be together,” I say, but my conviction is wavering.
“Why not?” She steps closer, her hands sliding up my bare chest. “Give me one good reason why we shouldn't see if this can be something real.”
“I just gave you several.”
“Those aren't reasons. They are just excuses to keep you from getting hurt.” Her fingers trace the tattoo on my ribs. “You're scared.”
“I'm not scared,” I huff, but there's no bite behind it.
When her eyes meet mine again, she really looks at me, and I feel vulnerable under her scrutiny. “You're scared because you like me more than you expected to. You're scared because this already feels real and right. You're scared because for the first time in however many years, you want something that isn't hockey.”
My jaw clenches, and my heart thunders in my chest. “You don't know what you're talking about.”
“I don't?” She rises up on her toes, her lips brushing my jaw. “Then prove me wrong, Daemon. Tell me you don't want me. Tell me that what happened in your living room was just sex, and you don't want to do it again. Tell me you don't think about me. Tell me that you don't crave me the way I crave you.”
That's exactly what I should do. I should tell her all of those things are true and send her home. I should forget this ever happened.
Instead, I grab her face and slam my lips to hers.
She makes a small sound of surprise, then she melts against me as her arms wrap around my neck. The kiss is different from every other one we've shared. It's slower, deeper, less frantic but somehow more intense. This kiss is both of us finally acknowledging that this is more than just physical.
When I pull back, she's breathing hard, and her lips are swollen.
“That's what I thought,” she whispers.
“Every time you used my card, it made me happy that I knew you made it home safe,” I confess, no longer seeing the point in hiding the truth from her.
“I knew you cared,” she whispers. “When you brought it up at the bar, there was just something about the way you said it. I can't explain it, but I could feel it.”
For a few seconds, all I can do is stare at her, taking in every detail of the woman in front of me. From the mess of curls falling around her face to the slight flush in her cheeks. Those big, earthy eyes that see right through all my bullshit. How her golden, bronze skin looks in the dimly lit kitchen. The way my shirt hides all the curves and valleys of her body.
I should be the responsible one and stop this before it goes too far. Before my fascination with her turns into a love that I'll never let go of.
But when she looks at me the way she is right now, like I'm something worth keeping, all the excuses for why I shouldn't want her fade into nothing.
“Bedroom,” I say roughly. “Right fucking now.”
“So bossy,” she snarks, but she's already moving, pulling me down the hall.
