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Chapter Fourteen
When Avery got back from Myla’s the next morning, it was to find her house exactly as she’d left it—including Holden sitting on the couch with the same stern, thoughtful look on his face.
“So,” he said, and Avery kept her back to him, focusing instead on the tiny radio perched above her TV set.
She tinkered with the stereo, and a bouncing, bubblegum-pop song blasted through the speakers. Finally, something to break the tension. Even if “Call Me Maybe” was the slightest bit inappropriate for their deep, adult discussion.
“You wanted to give this a try. This, us, thing.”
“I do.” He scrubbed a hand over the bristle of his chin, and she fought back the urge to drool. Why did he have to look like a damn Brawny advertisement during their serious discussion?
She joined him on the couch. “Okay. Let’s do it. I’ve made a list of terms and conditions—”
“No terms, no conditions.” His mouth was a hard line of determination.
He slid closer so that her knee grazed the firm muscle of his leg. Even that slight touch sent an electric spark surging between her thighs. He had her. It was over.
A one-hit KO.
“Then what…?”
“You’ll belong to me—”
“Belong seems a little caveman-ish.”
“We’re together. That’s it.” He cupped his strong hand around her nape, and every ounce of air in her body was gone. There was only him, the mintiness of his breath, and the scorching heat of his firm lips as he kissed her.
She responded to him without thinking, deepening the touch until she lost herself in the swirl of his tongue, the taste of his mouth.
When he pulled away, the room was spinning, moving in slow-motion circles. All she could see was the handsome face in front of her. If this was the hard sell, then she’d fallen for it.
Hook, line, and sucker.
“Tonight, I’m making you dinner. It’s going to be a real date. You and me. Our first real date.”
He could cook? Cook, like, not out of a box or stolen from a lunch trolley, cook? The Marines must have done him up right.
“That sounds good.” She moved to turn up the radio, but he grabbed her wrist.
“There’s one other thing.” The pressure of his touch brought on a wash of memories, and it was all she could do to focus on his words rather than think over all the dirty new ways they could christen their relationship.
“I don’t think we should have sex.”
Well. That was the worst idea she’d ever heard.
Who the hell would want something like that? Or, more accurately, not want something like that? That would be like asking for no daisies in spring or no Price is Right on a day home sick from work. It simply wasn’t done.
“Come again?” She winced, realizing her pun.
“I don’t think we should have sex.”
“Why? Is your man pump closed for business? I learned this trick in a magazine that can straighten that right out.”
“No. It’s a fresh start. For both of us.”
It was like a high-school movie. This wasn’t the macho Marine she’d become so accustomed to. But all of a sudden, for no reason at all, it also felt kind of sweet.
Or maybe the reason was the earnestness in those dark irises. Or the slight curve of his mouth.
