At my words, Wyatt stalks over to me, stealing the air from my lungs with surprise when his large hands cup my face. My pulse starts to quicken, thinking he may kiss me. But he doesn’t, much to my disappointment.
“They were out of fucking line. No one should ever have to tolerate the disrespectful way they were speaking to you. Make no mistake, you handled them perfectly well, and even if I wasn’t here, I have no doubt you would’ve managed. But I couldn’t stand by and let them verbally assault you like that. You deserve respect. And so much more.”
His thumbs gently stroke my cheek, eliciting a small shiver down my spine. His eyes grow heavy, lowering halfway closed. I lean in, slowly, cautiously, until my head turns and rests against his chest. It isn’t the contact I truly crave, but it feels deliciously sensual for me, all the same. His hands trail down my back, coming to rest in the curve of my lower spine.
“Paige…” my name rumbles out from his chest, echoing through my ear.
I want to be bold. I want to leave my comfortable, easy existence. I want to step off the edge, into the unknown of lust and desire.
So I do.
Lifting my head off his chest, I tilt my gaze up. Slowly, one hand travels up his arm, some part of my mind cataloguing the muscles I feel bunched and tense under the fabric of his shirt. As it always is around him, my ability to focus on multiple things at once disappears, and all I am aware of is him. His scent, the sound of his breathing, the tightening of his hands on my hips.
I reach the longer hair at the nape of his neck and slide my fingers through the soft strands. His mouth opens slightly. Anticipation has already begun to spark throughout my body. When I lift up onto my toes and close the inches that separate us, that trickle of pleasure turns into a cascading free fall.
His lips are soft.
Why this surprises me, I don’t know. Perhaps my lack of experience with these types of activities has predisposed me to expect men’s mouths to be rougher.
Hesitantly, I move my mouth against his, waiting for him to respond. Mere seconds pass before I feel him give in to the inevitability of our kiss with a low groan. His body melts into mine but the pressure is balanced by his hands spreading across my back, holding me in place.
Had I known kisses were capable of igniting a fire within me that is burning as strong as I am right now, I may have indulged in this more often. However, I suspect it would never be as good as it is with Wyatt. Why? I have no idea. And that confounds me.
His tongue licks along the seam of my mouth, and although I have never kissed a man this way, I open to him readily. We meld together effortlessly. Our tongues tangle, darting in and out, teasing and tantalizing. This is a first kiss that should be written about in every romance book everywhere. Wyatt moves a hand down to cup one globe of my bum as the other continues to hold my body to his. When he squeezes gently, the corresponding rumbling sound he makes sounds deliciously out of control. And when he presses his hips into mine lightly, I pull back with a start.
“Is that…”
The corner of his lip lifts up, but ever the gentleman, Wyatt doesn’t force me back into his arms. “Yeah. Sorry. I can’t seem to help it around you, Paige. You’re just so —”
I cut him off with the press of my lips to his once again as the realization hits me.
I’m doing this to him. Me. Paige Millstone, who has never experienced an orgasm, is causing Wyatt James to feel aroused. And judging by the significant bulge he pressed against me, I believe it is safe to say Wyatt is at least as interested in seeing where this goes as I am.
If not more so.
The question is, what now?
Chapter nine
Wyatt
I stayed away from the bookstore yesterday. I sure as fuck didn’t want to; the very thought of Jeffrey Dickhead Morgan treating Paige like garbage had me at a level ten of rage in an instant. But I’ve met him before. Years ago, at an event Crawford Books sponsored. And he came dangerously close to recognizing me, I could tell by the way he looked at me.
My conscience tells me I should tell Paige the truth about who I am. I wanted to, I still do. And I don’t really know why I don’t, except that it’s nice to not feel beholden to the expectations that come with being a Crawford.
And then she kissed me. Correction, she kissed Wyatt James. That distinction is not lost on me.
Instead of going to the signing, I found a grueling six-hour hike in Strathcona Provincial Park and shut off my phone. By the time I got back to town, the signing was over, and I drove straight home and did my best not to picture Paige as I jerked off in the shower.
Spoiler alert, I failed. And it was her name I shouted out when I painted the shower wall with my release.
Her confident handling of Mick and Jeffrey yesterday was such a goddamn turn on. And the way she did it with her dignified words revealed her backbone of steel. She might claim to struggle with social interaction, but I don’t see it that way. I see an elegant, composed woman who isn’t afraid to let her intelligence show. She takes no bullshit and gives no bullshit.
She’s tempting. Too tempting. Because for all her inner strength, she’s also fragile. Vulnerable. After I got home from the bookstore the night before the signing, after we kissed and I felt her body pressed up against mine, my mind went down a dark path. Call it dramatic, call it overreacting, I don’t care; I can’t handle having someone else in my life who’s sick. And memories of seeing her at the hospital refuse to leave me alone. Even though asthma is a controllable disease, her delicate body could fail her at any time. And I don’t think I would survive someone else I care about leaving me. Which is another reason why I needed to keep my distance yesterday. Because I won’t be able to stop at just a kiss the next time.
But fuck, what a kiss it was. Her enthusiasm surprised me. I can’t figure out if she’s a virgin, or inexperienced, or if it’s simply her way of interacting, but something about her screams innocence. Which made the passion of our kiss all that more intense.
I can’t avoid her forever, I know this. Which is part of the motivation behind my going to Camille’s, the café next to The Nutty Muffin. I’ve tried their soup before and was impressed. Mila is more than just a competent baker. She clearly knows her way around a kitchen, and around running a successful business.
