It doesn’t cover much, but at least it’s something.
“Yeah, you’ve been in here for like an hour.” He folds his arms over his chest, his voice cool. “Your phone rang. Twice. It was Kirk.”
My mouth falls open.
“I told him you were just putting your panties back on.”
“Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“Isn’t that what you were planning on doing next?” He smiles smugly at me. “Seems like Kirk’s having second thoughts about dumping you.”
“Shut up.”
There’s no way.I’ve been seeing him around way more since we got back from Fort Myers, it’s true—but this is the first time he’s tried calling. I guess I should be happy, but there’s a tightness spreading across my chest.
“I’ll call him back tomorrow.” Why does it sound like I’m asking a question?
Lane gives me a long, unbearable stare, before sighing.
That’s when I remember I’m practically naked, and considering the weird electric tension between us, that’s probably not a great idea.
“Let me put my pajamas on,” I say, tugging at the towel skimming the tops of my thighs.
I nod toward the door, but Lane doesn’t move. He’s undressing me with his eyes, and the realization roots me to the ground.Just leave, already!Slowly, he uncrosses his arms, looking me up and down, his eyes lingering on my neck, trailing down to my ankles. The air between us is hot and thick, even though the shower steam has evaporated by now, and I’m suddenly not sure I can breathe. By the time Lane steps closer, I’m basically panting.
Suddenly, he’s less than a foot away from me. I wish I could tell what he’s thinking, but his eyes burning through mine are unreadable. I watch as he clenches his jaw, his muscles rippling, like he’s fighting the urge to take another step forward. My throat tightens as I understand he’s waiting for me to make the first move and close the distance between us. I don’t think I can, though, I’m not feeling very bold. And besides, I needhimto act—I need some sign that it isn’t just me, that I’m not making it all up in my head.
I stand as still as I can, the towel knotted around my chest growing tighter by the second, the only sound the running water. Lane reaches over me to turn off the faucet. The motion closes the distance between us, and my eyes shut instinctively. As his lips brush my temple, I fight to steady my breathing, not wanting him to see how much I love his warm breath against my skin, love imagining how wild he must be feeling right now. I’m scared. I still don’t know what exactly flipped his switch, or why the sexual energy is rolling off him in waves, because he hasn’t said—he hasn’t given me the slightest explanation.
I’m just about to start spiraling down a rabbit hole again when Lane’s hand lands softly on my thigh, lingering against my skin for a moment, before sliding up under my towel. The whirlwind in my mind settles in an instant, leaving just one single desire: how badly Iwant to feel the way I did on New Year’s Eve, how much I’m craving everything he did to me.
His left hand rests on my other thigh, inching up and pausing for a moment, giving me a chance to push him back. Once he’s sure I want it just as badly as he does, I feel his palms move in to cup my ass, and I think I might be intoxicated. I want him to kiss me so badly, but instead his lips graze the skin behind my ear, unbearably close, with an unrelenting, erotic restraint. I’m fighting hard to stay quiet, but my body betrays me. I tilt my head to the side, giving him better access to cover my throat with kisses, my fingers clinging to the edge of the sink. When his tongue trails up from the nape of my neck, my mouth falls open in a silent “Oh,” and I rise on my toes to follow his movement. I lift myself up and then down and then up again, my breasts pressing harder into his chest. I can’t see his face, but I can tell he’s tuned in to every one of my reactions, his hands reading me.
“How does this feel?” he asks, his voice husky, the words hot against my neck.
He nips me lightly, and I turn his question over in my mind, searching his eyes with mine.
“What?”
“Does it feel good?”
I was desperate for us to talk, but right now his questions just make me feel awkward. I can tell there’s more to what he’s asking, but this is Lane—the most confusing guy I’ve ever met.
He slides his hands up to my waist and strokes my sides with his thumbs, staring me straight in the eye. He’s waiting for me to reply, but he’s being so weird and intense, it’s putting a damper on the mood.
“Are you doing this because of Kirk?” I blurt out, the realization hitting me as I say the words aloud.
He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to. His eyes say it all. A part of me is upset, another part can’t be bothered to care—the part that’s hungry for his mouth. His eyes stay locked on mine.
I tilt my chin up. “It’s not bad.”
He frowns. I frown back. My skin is cooling, and I shudder. He takes a step back, his gaze trailing down from my lips to my towel to the tops of my thighs, and just as I’m about to ask what’s going on, he grabs me by the hand and pulls me into the living room. I drag my heels and yank my arm, but it’s no use.
When we get to the couch, Lane spins me around and pushes me backward, sending me tumbling back into the cushions, and as I make to sit up, he’s already on top of me, one hand pressing down on my shoulder.
“What is going on?” I prop myself up on my elbows.
The big question. I’ve been dying to ask it—tooscaredto ask it—since New Year’s Eve, and now here I am, practically begging him for an answer.
