The kiss is soft but not at all hesitant. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s damn good at it. When it’s obvious I’m not going to resist, he pulls me closer to him and presses his lips harder on mine. When my mouth drops open as I lose what little control I may have had over my muscles, he runs with the invitation.
My roaming hands on his chest, shoulders, and neck provide more encouragement. He transfers his hands to my butt and lifts me tighter against his body. Oh gosh. Only denim and a tiny scrap of cotton separate his fingers from the most intimate of my body parts. I hope he’s not as aware of that as I am. I can’t think of anything else.
Somehow, I manage to pull my lips away from his. He opens his heavy-lidded eyes and gazes into my face. A slow, lazy smile spreads across his glistening mouth. Without thinking, I rub my thumb across his bottom lip to blot away the moisture, but he grabs it lightly between his teeth and grins.
Letting go, he says, “That’s definitely the best thing I’ve done all day.”
Flattered, I nevertheless feel the need to check, “Better than that slant pass to Busch for a touchdown?”
“Keaton’s never made me feel anything close to that.”
I duck my head, wishing I could say the same. It suddenly seems super-awkward that I’ve fantasized about one of his co-workers.
Reluctantly, Jet steps away and runs his hand through his hair. “Well, I guess— I don’t know. You probably want to get to bed for real, huh?”
If he’s angling for a sleepover invitation, he’s going to be disappointed. I try to let him down easy, though. “Yeah. But thanks for stopping by.”
“Thanks for showing me your movie stuff. I’m sorry I woke you up.” He smirks. “Actually, I’m glad I did. But it wasn’t on purpose.”
“It’s fine.”
More than fine. My body is screaming for more. That’s why he needs to leave right now. If he touches me again, I may explode.
Since his smirk is still firmly in place, I assume he knows it, too. He shows me mercy, though, and says, “I’ll call you tomorrow. Maybe we can meet up and do something?”
I long to do something, but I try not to nod too eagerly while I walk him to the door.
As I’m showing him out, he turns in the open doorway. “I’ll try to wait until late morning to call. But I can’t make any promises.”
Saucily, I bluff, “You can call whenever you want. I’m silencing my phone as soon as you leave.”
“Don’t keep me waiting too long,” he requests sweetly, bending down to barely brush his lips against mine. “It’s not nice to play hard-to-get.”
Unfortunately, I’m not “playing” anything.
Thirteen
Sweet Enticements
I manage to get a solid five hours of sleep before my doorbell rings again. I ignore it this time. It’s a three-day weekend. I’m sleeping in. He’s going to have to learn to call ahead. Standing on a cold front stoop after driving from wherever he lives to where I live is a good way to learn that lesson.
It was one thing last night, when I was fully clothed and half-asleep and thought he was a public servant or Good Samaritan alerting me to an emergency. But I’m not answering in my tank top and panties with bona fide bed head and morning breath. Uh-uh. For all he knows, I’m a sound sleeper and don’t hear the doorbell that he rings four times.
In silent mode on my bedside table, my phone vibrates.
“Ratchin’ fratchin’ mother scratchin’,” I grouch. However, all it takes is the memory of that kiss in the kitchen a few hours ago for me to weaken considerably and blindly answer the phone with a sultry, “Helloooo.”
“Are you gonna let me in, or what?” Rae asks. “I brought you donuts. Thought you might want to dish about your early morning reunion with Knox.”
Donuts? When my health-conscious friend offers such a nutritionally bankrupt breakfast, I don’t pass it up, so I groan but say, “Use your key. I need to put on some clothes and brush my teeth.”
“Whatever,” she allows, and hangs up.
I toss the phone aside, then think better of it and slip it into my bathrobe pocket after I shrug it on.
By the time I run brushes over my teeth and through my hair, Rae’s all set up in the kitchen, and a cup of coffee steams on the counter next to the brewer she got me for Christmas. Her own cup catches the thin, brown stream of liquid heaven currently trickling from the machine.
“Hasn’t this thing revolutionized your life?” she asks, pointing to the space-aged coffeemaker.
“Absolutely. It’s an awesome gadget.”
“I wish I could take mine on the road with me.”
I sip while perusing my choice of donuts. Oh, she went all out with this morning’s selection, including those powdered sugar jelly-filled ones I love. She’s sucking up, hard-core. But why?
She chooses a plain glazed pastry and dunks it in her freshly brewed cup of joe.
Silence rules as we savor our breakfasts, but after her last bite, she says, “So.”
I dab powdered sugar from the corners of my mouth and repeat, “So.”
“How’d you like Jet’s middle-of-the-night visit?”
“How’d you know about that?” I ask what I’ve been wondering since she called me from my front door.
“He told me his plan on the bus back to the training complex.”
“And how did he know where ‘here’ is?”
She rolls her eyes. “He’s probably had your address programmed into his car’s GPS since he sent you those over-the-top flowers.”
“And he got my address for those… how?”
“You’re listed.”
“Under ‘M. Richards.’ Someone had to have helped him narrow it down.”
Keeping her eyes steadily on mine, she says, “Okay, I did. So, sue me.”
“And this morning, you didn’t think it would be wiser to discourage him when he told you about his plan?”
She smirks into her coffee mug. “I figured it was
