Page 126 of Lucky Shot

“I do. It’s not a crime to spoil someone, Whit.”

Why does it feel so good to have someone care for me? It’s weird and new and I quietly revel in the feel of it.

“Exactly,” I whisper. “Which is why I wanted to cook for you. I can’t buy you fancy things because you probably have them already, but I could do . . . this.”

“I’ll take this any day over the fancy things.”

Our eyes meet. Hold. He moves toward me, and I suck in a breath. I think he’s going to kiss me but instead, reaches behind me to see what’s on the charcuterie board.

Our bodies touch. Still. He’s so close yet so damn far away.

“Hardy?”

“Hmm?” he asks, amusement in his tone. “Just looking to see what goodies you have for me.”

“Touch me.”

“What?” He chuckles as he pulls back to look at me, and every crease in his face pulls tight.

I spread my legs wider so they cage him. “You heard me.” I lean forward, my lips hitting his ear when I speak. “Touch me.”

“I can’t. Your surgery. Your—”

“I think that’s what our problem is.” I trail a fingernail down the midline of his chest, my body heating as it goes over the dents and grooves of his corded muscles beneath his shirt.

“We have a problem?”

“Mmm.” I flutter my lashes up to meet his eyes. “It’s between us. Every conversation. Every look. Every unspoken word.”

“What is?” His voice is thick with desire and restraint.

“This.” I press a kiss to the side of his neck and love hearing his quick intake of breath. “The wanting of each other. The memory of what we feel like together. The needing to feel it again.”

He hisses as I brush my knee ever so gently over his slowly hardening cock. His groan is as epic as they come, and it causes the deep ache between my thighs to sweeten. “We can’t. You’re recovering. You’re—”

“If I’m well enough to cook, I sure as hell am well enough to do other things.” I lift my eyebrows.

“Other things?” His lips whisper over mine as he talks.

“Are you going to make me beg?” I ask because I’m about to do just that. My body feels alive for the first time since I fell ill, and I welcome the adrenaline-laced chaos racing through my system at the thought of touching him again.

At him touching me again.

“Beg?” His voice breaks and sounds like pure liquid seduction.

I trace my tongue over the seam of his lips. His body vibrates with restraint as he holds back what I want to untether. “Pretty please,” I purr.

His lips meet mine. The kiss is a seduction of slow and skillful. His hands spread wide on my back and slide their way up my spine as he firmly cements himself between my thighs. His cock is already hard and pressing against me through the fabric of our shorts. I grind against it and love feeling the muscles of his chest bunch beneath my fingers when he feels me do it.

“Do you know how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you? To not push you until you were healed enough and ready? It’s been pure, fucking torture.”

His groan fills the room as I push him back to grant some space between us so that I can remove his clothes from him. I then allow him to do the same.

We stand in his kitchen, where the light is dim and the air is cool, and just take each other in.

The man is breathtaking. It’s not like I didn’t already know that, but standing before him with a little more of a grip on the emotions I’m beginning to feel for him, I realize he’s even more beautiful.

So much so that it hurts.