She put her arm behind her head, and her short-sighted gaze turned cynical. “You sure about that? The café means everything to him.”
“You mean more. He’s not good at showing his feelings, but he’ll be relieved it was only the building that got damaged, and nothing worse.”
She chewed her lower lip, her brow creased. “You think I should tell him the café could be in financial trouble? It’ll have to stay shut while the damage is fixed, and I might be forced to accept Gigi and Butch’s low offer.”
“I think Mack deserves to know what’s going on.”
“I suppose he does.” She shut her eyes for a moment, her face scrunched up as though she were in pain. Then she huffed out a heavy sigh. “All I wanted was to pay back the loan. But it’ll be hanging over me for years.”
I couldn’t stand to see her so sad. “I’ll help you fix this,” I found myself promising. “Don’t take the low offer. I’ll talk to Asher about using his building crew to do the repairs to the café. We’ll reopen it quickly, and I can cook for you until you find another chef. The café's worth a lot more than they’re offering, and someone out there has to see its value, especially once it’s busy again.”
“Thanks, but I can’t let you keep cooking for me.” She gave me such an unhappy smile, I knew she’d never accept my rash offer. “Even though you’re incredibly sweet.”
Pulling both arms from under the blankets, she rested her hand on my forearm. Now the blankets weren’t up to her chin, I could see she was wearing a T-shirt.
Okay, maybe I’d been wondering what she had on under the blankets. I’d been trying not to, because I was worried about her. But my subconscious lizard brain liked to ponder questions even when they were inappropriate.
“I’m not sweet,” I said, and it came out a little rough.
She blinked, clearly surprised by my change in tone. Studying me, her expression changed, and I was glad to see some of her sorrow bleed away. In its place was a spark of something entirely different.
“Sweet is exactly what you are.” Her voice held a hint of challenge. “I’m in your bed, barely clothed, and I clearly need comforting, but you’re too sweet to take advantage.”
“I am…” I brought my face lower. “Not…” My mouth hovered over hers. “Sweet.”
Her arms snaked around my torso, holding me in place. She widened her eyes. Without her glasses they had a vulnerable, blind baby-bird appearance that made me want to simultaneously protect her from predators and make her gasp my name.
And no, that wasn’t weird. At all.
“Will you stay with me tonight?” she whispered. “Just to hold me? I’ll be good and keep my hands to myself. I promise.” Her breath was minty and her skin was warm.
“Move over.” When she did what I asked, I turned off the light and lay on the bed next to her. I lay facing her, but didn’t touch her.
Not yet.
If I was going to make love to my dream girl one final time, I was going to savor every moment. And lying next to her in semi-darkness, with my heart beating hard, my body aching with anticipation and my lips just inches from hers, was a pretty good moment to savor.
“Did you ever imagine how you’d kill me?” I whispered.
She didn’t seem to be taking in air, and I thought she must be holding her breath. I couldn’t see the blue of her eyes in the dim light, but I could see she was blinking slowly.
“Kill you?”
“I’m not one of the victims in your serial killer book?”
“No!” She gave an incredulous laugh. “God, no. Why would I want to kill you? You’re not in my book.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad one, but I knew I couldn’t last another second without touching her. Putting one hand out, I ran it slowly down the curve of her hip. The blanket slid down with my hand, exposing more of her T-shirt.
“Does that mean you never thought about me after we broke up?” I asked.
It took her a moment to answer, and her voice sounded breathless. “I thought about you.”
“What did you think about?”
“I missed your kisses. You used to be an incredible kisser.”
“Used to be? Are you saying I’m not good now?”
She didn’t answer.
I waited. And I waited.
But hell, there was only so much a man could stand.
Leaning into her, I claimed her mouth. Taking my time, I kissed her deeply and thoroughly, the best way I knew how. I kissed her until I was so aroused it was getting painful. My jeans were too tight, and she was wriggling into me, pressing her body against mine though there were still blankets in the way. My need for her was excruciating when we had so many layers between us.
I broke off and pulled away a little.
Her eyelids slowly opened and she let out a long, trembling exhale.
“I used to be a good kisser?” I asked again.
She hesitated a moment, then gave her head a little nod. “Used to be,” she repeated.
It wasn’t a reply I could accept.
Call me competitive, but there was no way my skills had slipped. I’d prove myself or die trying.
So I took her lips again, pouring every last inch of my passion into our kiss. I kissed her until I was panting with need. Pushing myself up on one elbow so she was beneath me, I pushed the blankets down to explore the curves of her body. Under her T-shirt she wasn’t wearing a bra, and the weight of her breast in my hand made me groan.
“What about now?” I managed to ask. “Is kissing me as good as it used to be?” Truth was, I was past caring. My control had crumbled. All that mattered was getting us both
