Page 60 of Blush Crush

His expression teeters somewhere between amused and curious, illuminated by the soft glow of the fireplace. Almost no one looks bad bathed in the radiance of fire, but Cole is already inconceivably handsome, and certain of it too.

Something tells me I am very unprepared for what this man has in store for me.

“The wedding is in March,” he starts, “which gives us a few months. Between now and then we figure out the rest as we go.” He leans forward, forearms on his knees. “Questions?”

I think about it, trying to focus on his question and not his face. “What do we tell people about how we got together? People are going to ask.”

He shrugs. “The truth, mostly. We’ve known each other most of our lives but got closer when I opened the tasting room next door to Novel. It happened gradually from there. Easier to keep it close to reality than to make up something complicated.”

That checks out. The best lies always have a kernel of truth in them. “I think that covers it then.”

“Almost.” He runs his index finger slowly around the rim of his water glass, eyes dropping to it for a moment before lifting back to mine. “There’s one more thing we can actually work on tonight. If you’re up for it. Sort of a pre-lesson.”

I shift slightly, my stomach clenching. “What do you mean?”

“Getting physically comfortable with each other. Most couples touch, show affection in public.” He holds my gaze. “Sometimes they kiss.”

CHAPTER 18

Cole

TERRIBLE FOR MY EGO

“You want to kiss me now!?” The alarm in her voice is so fucking cute.

“What’s wrong with kissing?” I ask innocently, fighting a smile dying to break free.

A flush takes over her creamy skin. The more flustered she gets, the more I want to keep making it happen.

“I don’t know, I just?—”

“Kissing is the first baby step. We can’t go from zero to a hundred.” I drag a hand through my hair, studying her. “I’m trying to be a gentleman here.” A short silence falls between us, one where I can see her starting to spiral. “How about we start with a hug?” I offer instead.

She stares at me like I’ve just suggested something wildly unreasonable, which, for the record, I haven’t. It’s an innocent hug. I’ve hugged all sorts of people. It’s not like I asked her to hug my penis. We’re not there yet. “Come on, doll.” I push to my feet and hold my hand out. “Don’t act like I have some sort of plague. We’ve only just begun and you’re already terrible for my ego.”

She eyes my hand. Then my face. Then my hand again. “I’m not afraid to touch you,” she says, which is exactly what someone who is a little afraid to touch me would say.

“Prove it.” I smirk.

That seems to do the trick and she takes my hand.

I pull her up from the couch and she comes easily, letting out a small, startled gasp when she lands closer to me than she was probably expecting. Close enough that I can smell her—she’s warm and sweet, vanilla maybe, or brown sugar, the kind of scent that clings to someone who spends their mornings surrounded by things worth tasting. Fucking edible is what she is.

I settle my hands at her waist and she instantly goes very still. “Breathe,” I say quietly.

“I am breathing.” She exhales. A long, shaky one that she’s clearly been holding since she stood up. Her trembling hands come up slowly and find my chest, fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt like she needs an anchor, and that small involuntary grip causes my breath to lodge in my throat.

I pull her in closer on instinct. She fits against me the way I somehow already knew she would—like the space was carved uniquely for her. Her head reaches my chin, her soft curves pressing against me, and I feel her inhale slowly like she’s steadying herself. Her fingers loosen their hold on my shirt and spread flat instead, palms against my chest, and I’m suddenly very aware of my own heartbeat in a way I usually only am after running.

I don’t particularly want to think too deeply about that.

“See,” I say, keeping my voice level. “Not so bad.”

“It’s fine,” she says into my chest.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I feel her smile against my shirt more than I see it. A small, reluctant twitch of her lips she’s trying to keep to herself.My hands press a little more firmly at her waist without me making a conscious decision to do it, like my body has its own agenda where she’s concerned. I’ve been fighting that particular problem since I became her most loyal customer.