Something dangerously tender moves through his expression.
“You think I’m joking?”
“No,” I say, voice catching. “That’s the problem.”
He kisses me then.
Not because I’m crying. Not to distract me.
Because he means everything he’s saying.
Because this man seems physically incapable of giving me affection that isn’t honest.
His mouth moves over mine, warm and slow, and I melt into him all over again.
When we break apart, I rest my forehead against his and let out a shaky breath.
“If I stayed,” I whisper, “you’d have to be sure.”
“I am sure.”
No pause. No doubt.
I pull back just enough to look at him. “Weston, we met yesterday.”
“I know when something’s mine.”
The words hit low and deep, so possessive they should probably scare me.
Instead, they make heat unfurl through me in one long, dangerous wave.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
“I know when something matters.”
There is no teasing left in me.
No light deflection.
Just honesty.
“I could stay,” I tell him softly. “If you’re sure.”
His hand slides from my face to the back of my neck. “I’m sure.”
And then he kisses me again.
This one is different.
Still slow at first, still careful, but there is hunger under it now. A deep, steady heat that wasn’t there a second ago and is definitely there now.
My whole body wakes up at once.
I make a soft sound into his mouth, and his hand tightens on the back of my neck.
“Lexie.”
Just my name.
