My lips part slightly, and I watch his gaze drop to my mouth for just a heartbeat before meeting my eyes again. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to close the remaining distance between us.
“What kind of woman do you think I am?” I whisper.
The question hangs between us, loaded with meaning I'm not sure either of us is ready to acknowledge. Brandon's eyes are dark now, focused on me with an intensity that makes my skin feel too tight.
“I think,” he says slowly, sliding his hand down my neck and resting on my shoulder, “that you're the kind of woman who surprises people. Who's stronger and braver and more passionate than anyone gives her credit for, including yourself.”
His fingers trace my arm, and I can't suppress the small shiver that runs through me.
“I think you're the kind of woman who could drive a man completely out of his mind,” he whispers.
We've somehow moved so close to each other that I can feel his breath against my lips. All it would take is the slightest movement, and our lips would be touching. My heart is beating so fast that I'm sure he can hear it.
“And how would I know you were interested in me that way?” I ask, the sound barely a whisper.
“Well, if I were interested in you—really interested—I'd make sure you knew I was thinking about you specifically.” He slides one of my legs over his, moving us closer, facing one another. “I'd compliment you.”
“Such as?”
His eyes travel over my face, taking in details like he's memorizing them. “Like how that green color of your shirt complements your skin. Or how your eyes get this little crinkle at the corners when you're really amused by something.”
My cheeks warm under his attention. “What else?”
“I'd find excuses to touch you. Little touches that seem casual but aren't really casual at all.”
His hand comes up to my face, and his thumb traces my cheek like he's wiping away something that isn't there. The contact sends heat shooting through me, and I have to remind myself that this is supposed to be educational.
“And then what?” I manage.
“Then I'd test the waters. See if you were receptive.” His hand slides into my hair, and his fingers tangle gently in the strands. “If you didn't pull away, if you maybe leaned into the touch…”
I realize my body has shifted and I am leaning into his touch, my face tilting slightly up toward his. “Then what?”
“Then I'd know you were interested, too.” His thumb traces my jawline, and I feel my breath catch. “And maybe I'd take it a step further.”
He shifts even closer, his hand slides to cup the back of my neck, and suddenly, we're much closer than we were a moment ago. The smell of his aftershave mixed with warm skin makes my head spin.
“How much further?” I whisper.
Instead of answering, he closes the distance between us and kisses me.
It starts soft, tentative, like he's giving me time to pull away. But when I kiss him back instead, something ignites between us. His mouth moves against mine with growing hunger, and I can taste the desperation in it, like he's been wanting this for longer than I realize.
My hands find their way to his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him through his t-shirt. When he makes a low sound in his throat, I move closer, climbing into his lap without breaking the kiss.
His hands grab my hips, pulling me flush against him, and I feel the unmistakable evidence of his growing interest pressing against me. The realization that he wants me this much sends a rush of heat through my entire body. His heart races against my palm as he leans in, and his tongue touches mine.
We're completely lost in each other when his hand slides under the hem of my sweater, his palm warm against the bare skin of my back. I arch into the touch, and he takes it as encouragement. His hand moves higher until his thumb brushes the edge of my bra.
“Stella,” he breathes against my lips, and there's something desperate in the way he says my name.
I'm about to respond when his hand moves to cup my breast through the thin lace, and all coherent thought leaves my brain.I gasp against his mouth, and he takes advantage, kissing me deeper while his thumb traces my nipple through the fabric.
The sensation sends heat shooting straight through me, and I rock against him instinctively, using his hardness to ease the ache where I'm straddling him. He groans, and his other hand tangles in my hair to hold me exactly where he wants me.
My phone buzzes loudly on the coffee table, and the screen lights up with a notification.
We break apart, both breathing hard, staring at each other like we're not quite sure what just happened. His hand is still under my sweater, gripping my waist, my fingers are still fisted in his shirt, and the air between us is charged with electricity.
