animated and open. She’s never been like this with me. We keep eating and I keep asking about Ben and she keeps talking, all the way through dessert, a rich, chocolate cake she made from scratch. She smiles, she laughs, and her eyes are a warm gray while she talks. I’m enjoying listening to her, which is something I never do. I rarely want to talk with women. There’s usually far more interesting things to do with them. But watching Allie’s glow as she talks about her son has me more than content with the conversation.
When she clears the dessert plates, I refill our glasses and follow her into the kitchen, where she starts rinsing plates.
She glances over her shoulder. “I just want to let them soak. I can do the dishes later.”
I set the flutes down and reach for the towel lying on the counter. “Go ahead and wash them. The least I can do is dry after you cooked such a great dinner.”
“Ha. You live in the dorms.” She reaches for a scrubber sitting on the back of the sink, and I catch a glimpse of her sunflower tattoo. “Anything not out of a box or fast food wrapper is five stars.”
“True. I should own stock in frozen burritos. But then I’ve eaten in restaurants across Europe, thus my compliment does carry some weight, and dinner was great, Allie.”
Smiling slightly, she hands me a dripping washed plate. “Thanks.”
“Thanks for cooking.”
“Student exchange?” she asks, scrubbing at a pot.
It takes me a second to realize she’s referring to my travels. “Vacations,” I say, drying the clean dish. “My parents are quite the globe-trotters.”
With a sideways glance, she studies me for a long moment while I dry another plate. “What exactly do your parents do?”
“My father’s a retired surgeon. My mother’s a socialite.” I hold up the clean dishes and give her a questioning look.
“Set them there.” Her hands in sudsy water, she nods toward the peninsula between the galley kitchen and main room. “I’ll put them away when we’re done.” She turns back toward the sink. “My father works in a car parts factory.”
The message in her tone is loud and clear. We were raised worlds apart. I dry a pan and set it next to the plates. “Did your father spend time with you as a kid?”
She gives me an odd glance as she rinses a spatula. “Of course.”
“Well, mine was too busy. Then too tired. Money isn’t everything.”
She nods at me. “Very true.” She places the last pan in the rack. “Didn’t they take you to those museums?”
“My mother shopped. My father relaxed. I wandered.”
“Oh, wandering alone in huge rooms full of art,” she says, letting the water out of the sink. She doesn’t turn around but says, “That sounds unbelievably lonely. Too lonely for a teenage boy, Justin.”
At the pity in her voice, I toss the towel on the counter and step behind her. Pity is the last thing I want from her. I wrap my hand in her silky hair and drop the curls over her shoulder, then brace myself against the counter with my other hand. “I didn’t have it too bad. I got to see this, right?” I touch my lips to the sunflower at the base of her neck.
“Yes,” she whispers as her body trembles.
Kissing the flowering ink is all I intended to do, but the way her body trembles at the touch of my lips pushes me to move my mouth up to her hairline. “You smell like sunshine,” I murmur, my lips grazing her skin.
Her entire body quivers. Her fingers clutch the edge of the counter while mine grasp her hip to steady her, or maybe to steady myself. My lips follow her hairline and brush alongside the soft skin of her ear. I take the soft lobe into my mouth. She gasps and turns toward me. That’s all the invitation I need.
“I bet you taste like it too,” I whisper, covering her mouth with my own. She tastes like wine and chocolate—reminding me of the night on the roof—and like I said, sunshine. The little sigh she lets out when my tongue slides into her mouth has me pinning her to the counter. She kisses me back, running her tongue along mine slowly then exploring the roof of my mouth, and desire shoots through me like lightning. I pull away for a moment, my fingers digging into her hipbone, but unable to help myself I close in again and start sucking at the corner of her mouth, then lick that sexy ring.
She gives another little moan and presses her round ass against me. I let out a low chuckle. Fuck. Something has to be released because I’m more wound up than a drummer on coke. After one damn kiss. And we’re still fully clothed. Holding her hips and resting my cheek on the soft skin of her neck, I feel like the thirteen- year-old boy I used to be, all crazy and wound up after nothing more than a make-out session.
Our heavy breathing fills the kitchen. She still doesn’t move, simply stands there as heat builds between our bodies. We’re motionless as we press into each other, but my hands have a mind of their own as they slide up and cover her breasts. Her breath catches. The sound of it is too sweet. Shit. I need to slow down before I have her skirt up and I’m taking her in the kitchen. I do not want our first time to be in a tiny kitchen against the cupboards. But she’s too damn sensitive as she leans forward, pushing her breasts into my palms, and sighing, “Justin.”
The way she says my name reverberates to my gut. I can’t help slipping a hand under her tank and bra. My fingers explore and caress her skin. She moans and bends farther over the sink until I almost lose it.
Amazed at how responsive she is, I slow the kiss, cupping her as she comes down. When she exhales, I brush her ear with my mouth. “Where’s your bedroom?”
Her eyes pop open. She blinks twice then starts twisting in my embrace. Obviously, that was the wrong question. I release her and step back. She scoots to the far end of the kitchen. “Whoa, that was—that was—”
“Enjoyable?” I brace myself between the two counters and take a deep breath.
“Intense.” She swipes her glass off the counter and takes a huge gulp. Her nervous eyes catch mine. “I know I came on strong the night you brought me home, but…” She takes another gulp of wine. “I’ve never been with anyone except Trevor, and obviously”—she blushes—“it’s been a while. I may need time before— before…”
I’m stupidly ecstatic she’s never been with anyone other than her ex. Though I’m still wound up tighter than a teenager, I say, “Hey, I’m not in any rush. Like a fine wine, I can wait for things to mature between us.”
She blurts, “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
“After the way I acted the other night, I thought you might think…Well, especially here alone in my apartment and me being a single mother…” She stares at the wine in her hand.
I step forward and gently lift her chin. “I’m not going to lie. I was hoping. I’ve wanted you since that first night at your shop.” She’s frozen still as I stroke her skin with a thumb. “But I don’t want you to feel pressured, and I sure as shit don’t want you to have any reservations. I want it to be perfect.” I lean closer until my lips almost touch hers. “It may be as tough as hell for me, but anytime you feel like we’re moving too fast just tell me.” Unable to resist, I give her lip ring another soft kiss. “Okay?”
She nods slightly but still appears nervous.
I’ve never wanted a girl’s trust, but I want this girl to trust me. Bad.
My hand slowly drops from her chin. “It’s a warm night. How about we end it with a walk?”
She stares at me like I have two heads but finally says, “All right. Let me get a jacket.” She steps around the peninsula and opens a closet in the living room. I drain the rest of my wine in one gulp, then open the door for her. Stepping outside, she glances at me and there’s a slight curve to her lips—and maybe a hint of trust in those granite eyes.
