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She says it while her attention drops to my mouth. Her thumb moves once against the weave beneath her palm before she makes herself look back at me.

The meaning reaches me immediately. The rhythm inside me kicks harder. “I do not want to stop at kissing.”

“I know.”

That surprises me enough to cut through the heat. “You do?”

Laura stares at me for a long second, then blinks once as if she is not sure she heard me correctly. Her hand is still on my chest, her other fingers are still caught loosely in the front of my jeans, and we have barely managed to put air between our bodies.

“Yes, Kell. I do.”

I think about that, then loosen my hands from her waist. Laura stays close before her fingers finally loosen from my jeans. Neither of us moves very far. I could touch her again without taking a full step, and knowing that makes stopping harder than I expected.

I touch my thumb to my lower lip. The fine weave there still carries the warmth of her mouth. “Kissing is good.” Laura closes her eyes and makes a sound that might be a laugh or a complaint.

“What?”

She opens her eyes to look at me and I wonder if she will press into my body and start kissing me again. “Nothing.”

“That was not nothing.”

That makes her laugh. I smile too, but when her laughter fades, her gaze returns to my mouth.

I reach out and put my fingers lightly at her waist, not pulling this time. “I think you should stop telling me I will figure things out.”

“Why?”

“Because I do.”

Chapter Nine

Laura

After Kell steps away from me, neither of us seems to know what people normally do with their hands. Mine feel especially useless, so I run both of them through my hair, which accomplishes nothing except making it messier.

My body hasn’t caught up with the fact that the kiss is over. My lips still feel warm, and every place he had me against him seems conspicuously empty now that there are six feet between us. I can still feel the shape of his hands at my back.

When I take in the dining room, all I see are open paint tubes, the wet canvas, and the drop cloth. Kell is standing six feet away in black jeans with an erection I’m trying very hard not to focus on.

“I think we need dessert.”

Kell’s eyebrows rise. “Dessert?”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“Especially now.”

He follows me into the kitchen. I can feel him behind me without turning around, which is unfair. A man shouldn’t be allowed to become that physically distracting less than an hour after smearing paint across a canvas with his bare hands.

I open the pantry and find the can I’m looking for on the second shelf. Kell eases beside me.

“Peaches.”

“Very good.”

“The picture helped.”