Page 69 of Miss Manage

His grin deepened, lazy and infuriatingly confident. “There’s only one woman I was hoping to impress, though.”

The air between us thickened, and energy crackled through me, impossible to ignore. I forced a sip of coffee, though it tasted bitter. “Lucky girl,” I managed, aiming for flippant but landing somewhere closer to breathless.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes flicking to my lips and back again. “I’d say I’m the luckier one.”

There was no doubt he meant it. There wasn’t a hint of teasing in his tone, only quiet certainty, the kind that made my chest tighten and my brain short-circuit.

Somewhere to our left, Michelle let out an exaggerated sigh. “If you two don’t stop making heart eyes, you’ll miss the first pitch.”

The spell broke. I blinked and stepped away at the news the game was about to start. “Guess we better behave,” I murmured.

Gabriel’s smile was slow and deliberate. “At least until later.”

Later that night, I was debating whether I wanted to cook when the Ring camera chirped.

Gabriel.

Standing on my porch with another box in hand. He’d left shortly after the baseball game had ended, taking only enough time to congratulate Austin on the win. He hadn’t mentioned any potential plans tonight.

“Hi,” he greeted when I opened the door.

“Hi. Another delivery?”

“It is. Michelle let it slip, totally on purpose, that she was taking Austin out to a movie tonight and he was then sleeping over. She might have also mentioned you love tacos.”

Sisters. They really were the best.

I stepped aside to let him in. “You made tacos?”

“Nope. Told you. I’m a one-dish wonder. This would be takeout.”

“Smells great.”

“It does. So, I have a radical subject change.”

“Like what?”

Without missing a beat, he lifted me up onto the counter, and his lips grazed the line of my throat.

“Like how much I’ve been looking forward to a redo of last night. Now where were we?”

“I believe,” I whispered breathlessly, “we were at the part where the food gets cold, and we christen this countertop.”

He kissed me with a quiet intensity stealing the air from my lungs. It wasn’t rushed this time. It was deliberate, searching, like he wanted to savor it. His hand came up to cradle my jaw, his thumb brushing my cheek in a touch so tender it undid me. My pulse tripped, and every cautionary flag I’d put up quickly evaporated.

All I could think about was the way he tasted, the way his breath hitched when I leaned in, the way his body fit between my legs when I hooked them around his waist. Logic didn’t stand a chance.

For once, I stopped trying to protect myself. I just felt. And God, it felt good.

He lifted me up into his arms easily, the motion stealing my breath. It was familiar, but this time there was no desperation. His steps were unhurried, each one deliberate, his lips finding mine between whispers and quiet laughter as he carried me upstairs.

When he set me down in my room, the air seemed to still around us. He closed the doors, the click of the latch sounding louder than it should have. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve anticipated having all night with you?” His voice was rough with something beyond mere desire.

My heartbeat stuttered. “Given how our luck’s been, you’re a man gambling with time.”

His mouth curved, but there was a gravity in his eyes that held me still. “Maybe. But I’m done rushing what matters.”

He stepped closer, his fingertips drifting down my arm in a slow, deliberate line making it difficult to breathe.

And as he leaned in, I realized this wasn’t merely about want anymore. It was about trust.

Sinking to my knees in front of him, I reached for the fly of his jeans.

“What are you doing?”

I enjoyed having taken him off guard. “Something I have plenty of time to do and enjoy.”

“Fuck, Charlotte, you don’t have to.”

“I know. But I want to.”