I tip my head.“That’swhat you were thinking?”
“I was thinking that you should probably kiss it better.”
I grin and blush again. “You were, were you?” I say, wanting to do that very thing. I straighten out my legs and scoot closer to him. “You should probably sit up so I can see better.”
“Good idea.” He does, and soon we’re facing one another, legs crossed, knees touching, hearts racing. At least mine is.
I lift my hands to his shoulders, surprised by how intimate the act feels. I’ve imagined what his stubble would feel like against my palms and dare myself to find out. With slow, rather tentative movements, I slidemy hands over the open collar of his shirt. Gently then, I cradle his strong, chiseled jaw, reveling in the coarse sandpaper feel against my skin.
Braxton lets out a sharp exhale.
I love that he’s letting me do this—letting me study the features of his handsome face up close and personal. I trail my fingertips in a feather-light motion along his temples, forehead, and cheeks.
He closes his eyes, and his breaths turn ragged.
The action makes me realize how affected he is by my touch; I like that, too. I trace over the tiny crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, the smooth plane of his forehead, and the delicate feel of his eyelids.
Still no sign of a scar. Despite that, I lean in and press a kiss on his cheek, allowing my breath to linger over his skin.
“Sorry,” I say, “I thought I saw something there. It was just a shadow.”
He only gulps in return, and the sizzling chemistry between us burns hotter. His hands move to cup my knees, the warm feel of them enhancing the energy buzzing about the room. I search his face some more, lowering my gaze along his nose, chin, and back up to the peaks of his upper lip. At last, I spot it—a tiny, white line that cuts through his upper lip on one side.
Heat revs warm in my tummy. I should have known it’d be there.
I tip his chin the slightest bit, lower my head, and press a gentle, lingering kiss directly along the scar. Another thrill rushes through me, fanning the pleasure clear down to my toes. I don’t remember initiating a kiss before.
Braxton opens his eyes to meet my gaze. The expression onhis face shoots heat straight through me. Desire, longing, determination. His hands move up to my neck a moment before he leans in and closes the gap between us once more. With his lips a breath away, he whispers my name, then presses his full, encouraging lips to mine.
I sigh, tipping my head as he deepens the kiss. He matches the sound with a low groan in his throat, his hands moving into my hair.
Chills ripple up my arms as I savor every push and pull of his incredible kiss. Like the ebb and flow of the ocean tide, giving one moment, taking the next. Braxton’s masterful mouth is putting me under a heavenly spell, and all I can think ismore.
The single word awakens me somehow and reminds me of the boundaries I set. Boundaries I have no intention of crossing, no matter how good this feels. And this does feel good.
“Braxton,” I mumble between kisses.
He kisses me again, a series of slow, teasing delights. “Yes?”
I pull back to meet his gaze, but his eyes are still closed. I grin at the blissful smile on his face.
“I’m liking this,” he says softly. “Why are we stopping?”
I laugh. “Because we can’t keep going all night.”
“I can,” he quips.
I laugh again, swatting his arm. “Stop,” I say. “We should probably…get into our pajamas and pick a bed.”
“Okay,” he says, sobering and meeting my gaze at last. “I pick whatever bed you pick.” He laughs and shakes his head. “Kidding, Maggie, you know that, right?”
I nod because Idoknow that. He said he’d be the perfect gentleman, and I believe that he will.
Still, I like the way he teases me. Braxton is fun to be around, and he seems to have a way of making me feel safe and desired at the same time. I consider that as I unzip my overnight bag and pull out my PJs—a matching camisole and shorts.
“I’ll change in the bathroom,” I say, “and you can change out here.”
“Works for me,” he says.
