“And howexactlywould you plan on doing that?”
His eyes flick briefly down my body, the look in them too mischievous for my liking. “You still ticklish?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You wouldn’t dare. Remember what happened last time you used your fingers for evil?”
His eyes heat, and when he speaks, his voice is just a little bit gravelly. “Trust me. I remember vividly.”
My face flushes at the memory. Now that most of the hurt and pain has subsided, it’s hard to be in his presence without thinking about that night in the pool. Without reliving the feel of his hands on my body and his mouth against mine and the heat, the passion, the desperation.
And then my mind pictures the things we did that night in the hotel, and my cheeks turn even redder.
Landon clears his throat. “So. Good news?”
I push away the memories and focus on the present, a shiver of excitement rolling through my body. I grin wider.
“Your idol wants a tour.” My smile doesn’t waver, but he stares at me like I’m speaking a different language. I clarify. “I just came from Randall’s house, and he’s interested in investing. He’s seen firsthand how great your product is, Landon. He’d be absolutelyperfect. I think the tour is more of a formality than anything.”
Landon doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just stares at me.
“Landon, did you hear what I said? Randall Bishop wants a tour of Prolimbinary. He wants to invest in your company.”
His eyes squint a little, but he still doesn’t respond. Doesn’t react.
Moving around the island, I close the distance between us, reach up, and shake his shoulders. “Earth to Landon! Did you hear what I said? We found a potential investor!” He shakes his head slowly, eyes glazing over as he stares at me like I’m talking in gibberish. “Landon-”
He kisses me. Instead of a verbal response, he places his hands on either side of my head, leans down, and presses his mouth to mine in a demanding, greedy kiss. His tongue wastes no time slipping into my mouth, desperate and frenzied, and I open for him immediately, forgetting all my talk of boundaries and space and time. I kiss him back with everything I have because, God, have I missed the feel of his lips. My body presses up against the length of him, my arms wrapping around his neck as his hands move down my sides to my waist, pulling me close, holding me tight, making me his.
And when his mouth finally pulls back from mine, barely an inch, he murmurs, “You’re fucking joking.”
I shake my head, eyes searching his. “Not even a little bit.”
And he kisses me again, this time lifting me off the ground. I wrap my legs around his hips, lost in the feel of him, and he moves me effortlessly onto the counter, stepping between my legs. When his mouth leaves mine again, he’s smiling bright as the fucking sun. It’s contagious, and I beam back at him, basking in his rays, unable to look away. Unable to do anything but stare at the beautiful, magnetic, complicated man before me. He laughs a little, and in it, I hear everything. Joy. Glee. Relief. Disbelief.
He braces his hands on either side of my thighs, so close I can feel the heat of his skin. “Tell me exactly what he said, baby. Word for word. Tell me every single detail.” I open my mouth to do just that, but he cuts me off by kissing me again. A deep, passionate kiss that makes my eyes roll back, my heart speed up, and my stomach dip. When he breaks away, I make an unhappy sound, one he smirks at, eyes darkening.
“You have to stop kissing me if you want the play-by-play,” I murmur.
His forehead presses to mine, and he shakes his head. “A nearly impossible feat, but I’ll do my best.”
So, I tell him the details of my conversation with the retired rock star down the street, careful not to leave out a single word or nuance. Once the initial shock wears off, he jumps into preparation mode, running me through everything he needs to prep to turn this tour into a done deal. We call Randall to set a date and a time, and then we end up in the living room with way too much Thai take-out and very little space between us on the couch. My thoughts are less jumbled now, and I know I need to keep my distance. I know I need to give him time. But today was a huge step in the right direction. A monumental stride. So, I stay until my eyes start to droop, and then he walks me out to my car.
“This is it, Violet,” he murmurs, pulling me into his chest. I press my face into the soft fabric of his shirt, inhaling his scent and sinking into his strength. “This is it.”
I don’t want to leave—it would be so damn easy to stay—but we’ve already messed things up once. I want to do it the right way now.
Because this is it. I know it is.
FORTY-ONE
I pull into the parking lot of Prolimbinary, my stomach twisting with nerves. It’s been two weeks since Randall and I talked on his porch, two weeks since I told Landon the news, and two weeks since I felt that tiny spark of hope in my chest, one I’ve been too afraid to kindle. I’ve barely heard from Landon since that night, but I’m okay with that. He’s been working hard on a presentation that will hopefully convince the rock star to bet on Prolimbinary.
Now, I sit in my car, watching the door like a hawk, waiting for the two to emerge after Randall’s tour. I practically throw myself out of the vehicle when the door swings open and study every facial expression for a sign that the meeting went well. Unfortunately, these two are masters of the straight face, an unreadable match made in heaven, and they give nothing away.
“Thank you for coming out, Mr. Bishop,” Landon says, shaking Randall’s hand. It’s almost comical to see them standing next to each other, Landon’s full suit a startling contrast to Randall’s casual short-sleeve button-up and worn jeans. I can’t imagine him ever wearing a suit.
Randall gives him a curt nod and says, “Impressive work you do. Thanks for the tour.”
That’s it. That’s all he says before turning away from Landon, but not without shooting me a quick wink. It happens so fast that I can’t tell if I imagined it or not.
