She must have seen the direction of his gaze and realized what he was thinking, because a tendril of color rose in her cheeks. Or perhaps she also imagined the exhilaration of gliding naked into hot water, the soft glow of the lights, and the velvet touch of wet skin against wet skin.
“Josh?” Her voice broke into the fantasy, and he blinked at her as the tantalizing image faded.
“Have you remembered anything else?” she asked as she opened the large glass bifold door that led from the deck to the living room.
And just like that, his body cooled. The wisps of the fantasy disintegrated in the dry glare of reality. “I haven’t,” he admitted. “I wish I could tell you that I did.”
She led him inside and through to the kitchen, and he followed her silently, waiting for her to speak. Knowing there was more.
She grabbed them each a glass of water, put his on the table, and then leaned against the counter, looking out the window. Looking away from him.
The glass taunted him. His lips were so dry they’d cracked. But he wasn’t sure he even wanted to try to drink something. He reached out a tentative finger to touch the glass. At first it seemed to slip. To slide away under his touch like melting ice, and he flinched back, away from the cold.
He straightened his shoulders and forced himself to concentrate. To focus on the glass. How it would feel to hold in his hand—cool and smooth and beading with water. He tried again, and this time he was able to hold it, lift it carefully, and take a small sip.
It was icy and refreshing, exactly what he wanted. But he could only manage a tiny sip at a time.
Ellie turned away from the view and faced him. Thank fuck she hadn’t seen his struggle with the glass, because her expression was back to being somber and a little dejected. She looked stoic in a way that he didn’t like—as if she was preparing herself to be strong.
“Are you married?” she asked eventually.
He choked on his water, spluttering and coughing before finally being able to take a decent breath. “No!”
“Were you, though,” she persisted, “before… this?”
Josh put his glass on the table and folded his arms over his chest. “No,” he answered firmly, glad when his voice came out even.
Fuck. He wanted to be insulted. Honestly, hewasinsulted. But… it was a fair question.
She turned to face him more directly. “How can you know that?”
He grunted. “I just do.” And he did. Somehow, without knowing the details or the events, he knew that he had never trusted anyone enough to want to be that close to them.
“And I have to take it on faith?”
It was unreasonable to expect. He knew it. In her place, he would ask the same question. Helikedthat she had asked it. But he needed her to believe in him.
“I know it. Like I know I love nduja sausage on my pizza, and lager but not ale. I know that ketchup should be dipped into and never poured. Socks should never be worn with sandals—ever! Toilet paper should hang over the roll, not under, and the jam goes onto the scone first. I know it like I know that I love being outdoors with the wind in my face…. Like I know that my name is Josh.”
He stalked across the kitchen and pulled her close, close enough that he could lower his forehead to hers and look into her eyes as he spoke. “I know it’s not rational. And I can’t explain it. But I know that I wouldn’t be here unless I was meant to be.”
Her eyes flicked between his, looking at him. Seeing him. And she slowly softened. “I believe you.”
Her belief filled him, sent warmth curling through his chest and over his body, and he couldn’t resist turning his head and taking her mouth in his.
He could get lost in her kiss. Drown in it. She was so soft and warm and perfect.
Just for a moment. He could have this, but only for a moment.
Chapter Ten
He was still with her.Sitting across from her. Watching her work.
Watching hertryto work. Or, more accurately,pretendto work. But how was she supposed to work when her whole body was still tingling from that kiss?
Ellie ran her fingertips over her lips. They still felt swollen. Oversensitive. And so did the rest of her body. The way he’d held her. That soft grunt he made as he hauled her even closer, consuming her. It was the best kiss of her life.
But since then, he’d withdrawn. He’d been increasingly silent as she pulled out her laptop and tried to make some kind of progress against her ever-growing e-mail backlog. Now he was rocking back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, biceps straining against his T-shirt. Brooding.
