He didn’t answer, didn’t argue, just watched her like he was recalculating a truth he’d spent years believing was unalterable. For the first time, his uncertainty didn’t feel like distance.
It felt like progress.
***
The next few days settled into something neither of them acknowledged aloud. Not normal exactly but close enough to worry her.
With the seal broken on intimacy, neither of them seemed interested in putting it back.
Julia woke wrapped around him more often than not now, tangled sheets and warm skin replacing the careful distance that had defined them for months. Mornings became unexpectedly easy. Leland cooked. Nothing elaborate, just eggs or toast or whatever the fridge offered, and she cleaned up afterward. Somewhere inside those small, unspoken routines, they found a rhythm that felt a little too natural.
She was at the sink one morning, running hot water over the breakfast dishes, when she heard him come into the kitchen behind her.
She hadn’t bothered getting dressed. Just his T-shirt, the hem grazing the tops of her thighs, hair still loose. She assumed he’d pour a second coffee and leave her to it.
Instead, she felt him move in close behind her. When she turned, the scrubby caught the edge of the faucet and slipped from her grasp. Water splashed up, getting them both.
“Oops,” she stated.
He looked down at the wet streak across his shirt then up at her.
“Sorry,” she said, wiping at the suds dotting his chest. But her wet hands only made it worse. She couldn’t help it. She giggled.
One dark brow arched, slow, deliberate, as if to say,so that’s how you want to play it.
He reached past her and turned up the faucet.
“Leland—”
He lifted his hand and drizzled a thin stream of water directly down the front of her shirt.
The jersey knit went transparent almost immediately, clinging to her breasts, her taut nipples standing out through the fabric. He watched it happen with the unhurried attention of someone who had all the time in the world and knew exactly what he was doing.
“Mine was an accident,” she said. “That was deliberate.”
“Yep.”
She held his gaze for one second longer before scooping up a handful of suds from the sink and throwing it at him. With white foam sliding slowly down his cheek, she half laughed, half grunted, “Now we’re even.”
Leland didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. His wet hands slid around to her ass and squeezed, firm enough to steal the breath from her lungs.
“Keep playing, little bit,” he said. “See what it gets you.”
She opened her mouth but promptly closed it when he lifted her onto the counter. He stepped between her knees before she could form another thought. The wet cotton was cold against her skin, and his mouth was warm when it found her throat, her collarbone, and lower, teeth grazing her through the soaked fabric until she arched against him with a sound that embarrassed her slightly.
He eased away just enough to look at her. Then he reached for the hem of her shirt—his shirt, technically—and drew it up slowly, watching her face the whole time, giving her every opportunity to stop him. She had absolutely no intention of doing so and, a moment later, it dropped with a wet splat somewhere behind him.
With both hands flat on the counter beside her, he dipped his head, and his lips closed around a taut nipple. She arched against him, reacting instinctively, as he drew hard, touching her only with his mouth.
When he finally lifted his head, his eyes found hers as he reached behind his neck and stripped his shirt over his head in one motion. There was nothing between them now except cool air, the heat rolling off his body, and the nearly unbearable focus of his attention.
He didn’t rush. That was the thing about Leland—he never rushed. He touched her with a specific destination in mind and saw no reason to hurry getting there. One hand braced on the counter beside her hip; the other moved with quiet deliberation while his mouth worked down her throat again.
She felt everything at once—the granite cold against her thighs, the warmth of his palm flat against her stomach, thesteady pressure of his fingers on her clit, unrelentingly flicking and rubbing until her breath went ragged and her hands gripped his shoulders with an urgency she couldn’t moderate.
He watched her face when she came. She’d never get used to that.
Afterward, she slumped limply on the counter, pulse still unsteady. The cool air caused goosebumps to erupt on her damp skin. He noticed, of course, and picked up a dish towel from the counter.
