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When I eventually tilt my head up, his face is inches from mine. He’s so close I can see his dark stubble and the faint golden halo around the center of his irises. He looks down at me with a gaze so soft it puts a tight, aching knot dead in the center of my throat.

The gravity between us pulls hard. It’s inevitable. He leans in, and I meet him halfway.

His mouth brushes softly against mine once, testing the waters, before he pulls back just a fraction of an inch. His eyes are open, staring down into mine, searching, but there’s no part of me that wants this to stop. So I chase his lips, making a desperate little sound I’ve never heard myself make before, and that’s all it takes to get rid of any restraint he might’ve been hanging onto.

When he kisses me again, my entire nervous system catches on fire. It’s slow and sweet and absolutely devastating, this kiss. This is everything I’ve been missing since the night in the hotel, but this time he kisses me like he’s got all the time in the world. I curl my fingers into the soft cotton of his shirt, parting my lips to let him in. A low, rumbling groan vibrates through his chest and straight into my bloodstream. I sink into him, letting the consuming heat of his body against mine melt straight down into my bones.

It feels so fucking right it terrifies me.

That’s the problem. If I keep kissing him, I’m going to hand him the keys to my entire life. I’m going to let him rearrange my soul the exact same way he just rearranged my Tupperware drawer, clearing out all my baggage just to make a permanent place for himself.

A cold spike of adrenaline cuts right through the lust. My chest goes tight. The sheer, suffocating vulnerability of wanting someone this much makes my lungs seize up. Shit, I can't breathe.

I pull back, sucking in a ragged breath, and force myself to untangle my arms from his body.

He lets me go, stepping back and putting an unbearable amount of space between us. He drags a hand over his jaw, his chest heaving just as hard as mine. For a split second, a flash of genuine hurt crosses his eyes, but he blinks it away, locking his feelings down behind a calm, steady expression.

Then he reaches past me to grab his keys off the island, shifting his weight so he makes sure his arm doesn't brush against mine.

I blink. "Wait. You're leaving?"

Sumner gives me a crooked, half-smile that’s way too endearing. "If I stay, we both know what’ll happen. You asked for boundaries and I promised I’d respect them. So I need to go."

I swallow hard, every inch of my body still screaming at me to pull him back.

He walks toward the front door, pausing with his hand on the knob to shoot a slow, wicked smirk over his shoulder.

"Think of me when you get yourself off after I leave," he says. “I’ll be doing the same.”

Before I get the chance to lie and tell him that’s not what’s about to happen, he walks out the door…

…and I slide off the stool and go straight for my nightstand.

CHAPTER 19

SUMNER

My shoulders burn as I hoist my end of the green velvet couch off the sidewalk. I curse, adjusting my grip on the slick wood frame before it slips out of my sweaty palms.

"If I blow out my back right now, you’re waiting on me hand and foot until I recover," Colston grunts from the other end. "And I’m not gonna make it easy on you.”

"Lift with your legs and you’ll be fine," I tell him, walking backward toward the open roll-up doors of the warehouse where Goldie’s studio is. "And I paid you for your help."

"A case of beer doesn't cover moving furniture on our only day off. You should’ve let me hire someone."

“You lift more than this in the gym. Stop being a whiny little bitch.”

We muscle the couch over the metal track of the threshold. A blast of industrial air conditioning hits my back, carrying the sharp smell of oil and exhaust from the motorcycle garage next door. Bass from a pop song thumps against the exposed brick walls, loud enough that I have to yell to be heard.

I adjust my grip again before I drop this damn thing. Yesterday, Goldie complained about two vintage couches getting dropped on the curb for her studio. She was stressing over how she and her assistant were going to get them inside. Like I’d let my pregnant… Goldie carry heavy shit. I’m almost offended she didn’t ask.

So I showed up with Colston to handle it.

"Sumner?"

I come to a sudden stop, and my best friend cusses me out. This thing is heavy as shit. But seeing Goldie always fucks me up a little. She stands in the doorway of her studio space, holding a tablet against her chest. She’s wearing wide-leg pants in a loud, colorful print and a tight black crop top that puts a sliver of her bare stomach right in my line of sight.

I love how colorful she always is. How full of life.