Dorian’s expression grows serious. “I forgive you, Piper.”
“Thank you,” I say weakly.
“Where did you go?”
“When I left your house? I went to see my parents. They know everything now, and they’re definitely on your side. But so am I, so I don’t blame them. They might have pointed out my incessant need to control things too, so I’m trying to find a healthy balance. I might…I don’t know. I might start telling people that I write.” I draw in a breath. “I told my driver on the way over here, and I know it’s aninsanecoincidence, but he likes one of my books.”
“Not that insane,” Dorian argues. “You top the thriller charts, Piper.”
My cheeks warm with pleasure.
“I don’t want this to be over before we actually start anything. I want to date you. I want to see where this goes.” He steps closer, his hands still in his pockets. “I want us.”
“You’re getting better at speaking your mind.”
His stare fixes on me, making everything around us fade. “Oh, there are so many more things I could say right now, but I’m trying not to scare you away.”
A thrill runs down my spine. I drop my purse and keys on the sidewalk and grip his jacket, fisting it in my hands and pulling him closer. “We could try to help each other, you know.”
“How would we do that?” His fingers skate up my arms, and he cradles my jaw.
“You can help me learn to trust more people, and I’ll give you plenty of opportunities to tell me how you feel.”
He presses a kiss to my temple, then lowers his mouth to my ear and whispers, “What’s the number one piece of writing advice, Piper?”
Words are meaningless. His cold fingers slide over my skin. His voice sends shivers down my neck, filling my body with a deep need to be closer to him. I don’t care about writing or school or even books—yes, I said it—right now.
Finally, he tells me. “Show, don’t tell.”
Then he does it.
Dorian drags his lips to mine and kisses me like a man starved. Like the pent-up energy from the last nine years has been building until this moment, when we finally pop the lid and let the beast free. Mixed metaphor? I know. I can’t get anything straight while Dorian is kissing me. My body is weightless but grounded, his hands roving, pressing, pulling me close. My insides melt into hot liquid as all sense of time evades me. Nothing matters except this moment and this place and this man. I lay my palm flat against his chest and revel in the quick pounding of his heart—how it’s beating for me.
We break away to breathe, and I throw my arms around his neck, hugging him. My cheek is warm against his skin. “You’re so cold.”
“I’ve been here a while.”
“You could’ve waited in your car.”
He leans back to look me in the eye. “I didn’t want to miss you.”
That’s when I kiss him again, long and slow and tenderly. I’m on fire, but he feels icy. So eventually I do the right thing and pull back. “Come inside. I can make you something warm to drink.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Of course. We didn’t really have dinner. Are you hungry?”
The look in his eyes tells me exactly what he’s hungry for, making my stomach flip.
I reach for my keys and purse, laughing. “Food first.”
“Okay,” he grumbles, taking my hand. I unlock the store and let him in, but we only make it a few more feet before he’s pressing my back to the bookcase and kissing me in the dark. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he mumbles against my lips.
I set my purse on the edge of the nearest shelf, dropping my keys inside, and throw my arms around him, kissing him back. I’m pretty sure I’m warming him up on my own well enough. Who really needs tea anyway?
fifteen
dorian
