Chloe in the other room.
“Rhodes,” I warn, jerking my chin in that direction.
“She’s busy.”
“But—”
I hear the intro music to her favorite show come on and freeze.
“See?” His eyes dance as he skims his mouth over mine. Another brush and I can’t help but melt against him, can’t help but part my lips, tangle my tongue with his.
“Hi,” he murmurs when he lets me breathe.
“Hi,” I whisper back, my pulse skittering through my veins, my limbs loose and heavy.
He rubs his nose against mine, smiles. “Missed you today, Stitch.”
Then he kisses me again.
Harder this time.
And whatever weirdness that hovered between us because of my trip is usurped by the feel of his hands and his mouth, and the way he crowds me back against the counter like he can’t stop touching me, kissing me,wantingme.
I clutch his shirt, drag him even closer.
He makes a low sound in his throat. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against my lips.
I do the opposite.
I kiss him harder.
His hand slides up my side, cups my breast.
I rock against him, my moan tumbling from my mouth to his.
The edge of the counter digs into my back and I don’t care because he’s lifting me up and I’m wrapping my legs around him and we’re kissing and touching and?—
Crash.
My planner falls to the floor.
My laptop teeters.
He throws out a hand, shoving it back before it can fall.
But my notebook has exploded, sending papers in all directions—pictures and itineraries, lists of restaurants and excursions I want to take.
It’s all jumbled and in disarray.
Kind of like my thoughts.
I shouldn’t go.
But Ican’tstay.
Because whatever I dreamed for myself before meeting Chloe and Rhodes has changed.
It’s different now and…
