“No.” The word falls from me in a soft breath. I bite my bottom lip. Lick it.
He watches my tongue, nostrils flaring again, and then returns his attention to the pan. He empties a tray of ground beef into it and attacks it with a wooden spoon. “Favorite animal?”
I blink. “What?”
He shrugs, the corners of his lips curling. “What’s your favorite animal? Mine’s a wombat. Tomato, please.”
Grinning, I pass him the cutting board and the diced tomato. “Ailurus fulgens.”
He laughs. “Of course it is.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. Tiny licks of happiness warm my heart. “And you know what that is?”
“Hell no.” He slides me his own grin. “But you chased adragonflyhalfway up a mountain, so I imagine that whatever it is, it’s amazing.”
“Red panda.” I lean my hip against the counter, watching him stir the tomatoes into the pan. “Did you know they are the only living member of their taxonomic family?”
“Ididknow that.” He nods, lips twitching, and then gives me an exaggerated look of confusion. “Their what?”
I laugh.
He grins again, and I realize I’ve never been this happy. Cooking with a stranger in his house, with no real idea of where I am apart from somewhere on the side of a mountain, a few tormenting minutes after being denied what I suspect had the potential to be the most intense, incredible sexual experience of my life, and I’m happy.
More than happy. I’m content. At peace.
It’s an emotion I haven’t experienced since Dad abandoned me and Mom.
It’s terrifying. Because if this is the man that brings me joy, and this man lives up in the mountains near a tiny little village hours from a zoo, what am I going to do? I can’t just give up on my goals and dreams for a relationship. Mom did that, and it didn’t end well.
A relationship? You’re getting ahead of yourself, Waverly. One kiss, one possibility of sex, and you’re already putting yourself in a relationship? Maybe tap the brakes a bit.
Swallowing, I return my focus to prepping dinner.
Jake seems to do the same.
Which only makes me more confused. There’s no awkward silences, no confusion about who’s doing what. There’s small talk about movies and books, and before I know it, I’m not just imagining a life with him, I’m craving it.
“Okay,” he says, jerking my mind back to the kitchen and away from the “and they all lived happily ever after” that is beyond reality. He closes the oven door, dusts his hands together, and turns to arch an eyebrow at me. “We’ve got twenty-five minutes. What do we do now?”
My heart pounds. “Go Fish?”
A wobbly chuckle falls from him, and, stare locked with mine, destroys the space between us, cups my face in his hands, and kisses me.
Chapter Seven
Jake
I try to be gentle. Try to remind myself she’s had a minor head injury, possibly a concussion. I remind myself we’re still strangers, despite my heart—fuck, my very soul—feeling like I know her on a level more profound than any I’ve experienced.
I frame her face in my palms like she’s the most delicate thing in the world. I taste her lips in soft kisses of unending need, barely touching my tongue to hers, catching her breath as it mingles with mine. The wild savagery of our previous kiss taunts me, turning my blood to molten lust, demanding I take her now, pleasure her.
But I need to be gentle. I need?—
She pulls her head back, her breasts—crushed to my chest—heaving. “Jake,” she whispers, eyes glinting as she tiptoes her fingers into my hair and balls her hands into fists. “I am yours. Mybodyis yours. I’m aching with how much I want you, and I’m not made of glass, and I’m not going to pass out.” She rolls herhips, pressing the soft curve of her sex to my rock-hard cock. “Do you understand?”
With a groan that’s more animalistic than any sound I’ve ever made, I reach down and grab her arse and haul her off her feet. “Fucking oath, I do.”
She locks her thighs around my waist, her hands tighter in my hair, and lets out a hitching whimper. “Now we’re talking.”
