“Corporate trauma,” she said finally, swirling her wine. “You know. Endless deadlines. Too many all-hands meetings andnot enough hands to actually help. People getting promoted for surviving the Misery Olympics. Until one morning—poof!—hello, gray hair. That’s why I got into library sciences. But I still have the battle scar.”
Ethan tilted his head, studying her. “I think it’s pretty,” he offered. That made her laugh, but something fluttered low in her chest. “Okay. Your turn.”
Her mind swirled like the last few velvety sips at the bottom of her wine glass. “Okay. I’ve got one. Truth or kiss?”
“Truth.”
“You told me, at the fall festival, how you got used to not feeling tied down. But you’re an adult now. You can make your own choices. What are you running from?” Her eyes narrowed, daring him.
He hesitated, smile fading for just a second. Then his broad shoulders shrugged. “Maybe I’ve been running from everything that’snot this.” The silence that followed was confusing, electric. He leaned in again and brushed his fingertips along her wrist. “Your turn. Truth or kiss?”
“Truth,” she replied, almost defiantly.
“What would your friends say if they knew I’d come over to cook for you tonight?”
She thought of Minka, of the way she’d cheered Cali on, of how this didn’t have to mean anything more than what it was in this exact moment—the building heat and tension and messiness to come. Everything she’d fought against. “They’d probably say I finally did something reckless and fun. Not exactly words people associate with me.”
“Reckless?”
“Yeah, taking a chance on a guy who’ll be gone by the end of the year.”
His expression floundered a moment then recovered, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. It was as if her answerconfused and intrigued him just as much as his answer had confused and intrigued her.
Touché, Cali thought.
Then she went for it. Hard. “Your turn. When did you first notice me? The story I’m telling myself is you sat outside of Minka’s every morning, long before I ever noticed you. You’d sip your coffee, pretend to read a book or scroll your phone, but really you were waiting until I looked your way.”
Ethan got up from the table and walked the few steps around to her. For a moment, she thought he’d collect her glass or reach for her plate. But instead, he braced one hand on the table beside her hip, the other at her jaw, and kissed her like he’d been wanting to do that for weeks.
His mouth was warm and tasted faintly of wine, the kiss deliberate, unhurried. Not a way to dodge her question, but a way to answer her.
When he finally pulled back, he stole her plate from the table and walked it to the sink to wash it, as though that kiss hadn’t just rearranged the air between them. She felt heady and drunk but not inebriated. More like high on the thought of what could happen next. What might happen. What she wanted to happen.
His rough voice echoed from across the kitchen. “And how many times have you thought about us kissing like that since youfinallylooked my way?”
God, he was good. Ridiculously good. He had her in the palm of his hand. And Cali thought how this teasing, this verbal back-and-forth, this matching of wit might be the hottest foreplay she’d ever experienced.
She didn’t answer right away but followed him into the kitchen, the narrow space collapsing what was left of her restraint. His gray eyes turned toward her, lingered on her eyelashes, and traced down to her lips. She found herself closeenough to smell his cologne, fingertips dancing along the hem of his shirt, until she felt the band of his jeans.
He caught her wrists and spun her gently until her back pressed against the counter. Then he kissed her—harder this time, deeper, the kind of kiss that left no room for confusion.
She felt his body pressed fully into hers, the want behind every one of his movements. This wasn’t polite anymore. This was gravity between them, taking over. She slid a hand around his neck.
Then, with a slow, calculated motion, he reached up and slipped her glasses from her face.
“Can I?” he murmured, setting them safely beside the sink.
The world blurred around her, but he was still in focus.
He lifted her onto the countertop, filling the space between her knees with his body, her skirt caught between them. He slid her toward him and paused there, breathless, as she wrapped her legs around him, pinning him against the counter. Her pulse tripped as he lowered his hands to her ass and gripped. The tension between them was undeniable, the way his erection pressed into her center.
“Ethan,” she whimpered into his mouth as their lips brushed together again.
He ran his knuckles softly along the front of her cardigan, and her nipples peaked at his touch. He traced them both with his thumbs, a feeling so impossibly electric it made her back arch up for more. “All these buttons,” he teased, forehead pressed against hers. “Do you know how many times I’ve imagined helping you undo these?” He slipped the first one from its buttonhole with a squeeze of his fingers. She leaned back, her hands propped on the countertop, and watched as he undid the second and third and fourth. Suddenly a rush of cool air hit her abdomen, a reminder of the chilled night making its way in.
He cupped and caressed her breasts in his hands. The only thing between her and his warm touch was a thin, beige bralette. Before her brain could scold her for not anticipating this moment, for not slipping on something a little sexier, Ethan bent down and pulled one of her nipples gently into his mouth, cotton fabric and all. He sucked and savored the feel of her until she moaned, then he moved onto the other breast and did it all over again. The feeling of the wet fabric sent a shock through her that made her toes curl and her head drop back.
“Holy shit,” she whispered, in a daze. Could she come from this alone? It had never happened before. But Ethan was already full of surprises. “Please,” she begged.
