Page 146 of Fake it ’Til Fall

She presses her lips together.

I stop. “Daisy.”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Her eyes lift to mine, and for once she looks openly caught. Wanting. Unsure. Brave in a way that makes me want to touch her slower, not faster.

“I’m okay,” she says. “I’m just . . . trying not to combust in my childhood bedroom like a very tragic candle.”

That almost breaks my control.

I lower my mouth to the skin just beneath her navel and kiss her there.

Her entire body goes still.

Then she lets out a sound so soft I feel it more than hear it.

“Still with me?” I ask.

She nods.

“Words.”

Her laugh comes out strained. “You are obsessed with language for a man who mostly communicates by glaring at furniture.”

“Words.”

“Yes,” she whispers. “I’m with you.”

I draw her jeans down her hips.

Slowly.

Not because I’m trying to torture her, though the flush spreading across her skin makes that a tempting thought. I do it slowly because I need every second to remind myself she’s not a game I’m trying to win. She’s not a bad idea I’m giving in to. She’s Daisy, who trusted me enough to stay. Daisy, who makes jokes when the feeling gets too close. Daisy, who is watching me strip away one more layer and trying not to ask if I’ll look at her differently when I do.

I won’t.

I already know I won’t.

The denim slides down her thighs, past her knees, over her ankles. I toss it aside without looking away from her.

Daisy lies there in her panties, her arms still above her head, her hair spread over the pillows, her breathing shallow enough to give her away.

I run my hands up her calves, over her knees, along the outside of her thighs.

She shivers.

“You okay?” I ask.

Her eyes narrow. “Forrest.”

“What?”

“I swear, if you ask me that every seven seconds, I’m going to start charging you per reassurance.”

I lean down and kiss her thigh. “I can afford it.”