Page 28 of One Night with Number Nineteen

But I do right now.

And it’s dangerous and dumb and…

I really freaking like it.

“You don’t have to,” I say, every cell in my body telling me to retreat, to step back, to slam up wall after wall.

Because if I admit I don’t have it⁠—

Gently, oh so gently it threatens to set my soul on fire, he peels my fingers from his wrist, but when I expect him to release me, to take the out I’ve just given him…

Instead, he lifts it…and presses a kiss to my palm.

Heat and softness.

Need and fear.

They war inside me.

And I realize something. Realize why he’d been so careful not to touch me before we had our night together—not giving me the casual hugs in greeting or goodbye like the other men do, not slinging an arm around my shoulders like Smitty often does, hugging me in that bear-like way of his.

Not tugging at my ponytail like Gray does, sending a wink my way (and setting a slice of banana bread down in front of me).

Not bumping my shoulder like Leo or just giving me a much-needed and no-strings-attached embrace like Aiden.

But now that he’s touching me again, I understand why he avoided it.

Why we both did.

Because I want to lean into his body, want him to touch me more.

Because I want to tear off his clothes.

God, I am such an idiot.

And yet, I can’t make myself pull away.

“Let’s go eat cookies.”

I blink. Because… “Um, what?”

His mouth hitches up, but he drops my hand and shifts by me. “I think that Harper’s cookies can cure anything.”

Even idiotic attraction to a man I can never let myself have?

Because I won’t let myself have one.

Can’t risk it.

“Cookies, Pages!” he calls and I realize he’s already made it to the kitchen. “And how about hot chocolate to go with them?”

I exhale, shove back my hair (and all it does is bounce back into my face).

But I go down the hall.

And find him putting cookies on plates and⁠—

“What are you doing?”