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I give my permission with a nod and the loud sound of whipped cream flowing fills my ears. He somehow manages to make the perfect restaurant-quality ice cream swirl of cream on top of my cup before moving over to his and doing the same. With that, he flips the canister, catches it in his hand, and scoops up the lid, the movements so smooth I almost wonder if he was a bartender in another life.
I pick up my perfect cup of cocoa and I head over to the table, wanting to look over the garden again like I had last time. There's something truly special and mesmerizing about his home, like a Victorian era castle overlooking perfect landscaped gardens.
He seems to understand my reasoning. “We could go sit in the garden if you'd like. I'm sure I have a nice fluffy blanket around here that we could throw around our shoulders to ward off the chill.”
I wonder if he could possibly make this moment any more perfect as he saunters off and returns with a warm, heavy, sherpa blanket in the deepest blue draped over his forearm. With that he leads me to the Victorian-era French double doors that lead out to the garden, and I step over the threshold with him.
The cool night air envelops me and I clutch my hot cocoa close, as if I can soak in the water from that as he leads me toward a comfortable-looking bench surrounded by greenery.
We settle down, sitting shoulder to shoulder, and he wraps the blanket around me. I sip my cocoa, looking up as the fireflies dance amongst the plants, and the moment feels amazing.
As if not thinking about it, he reaches out and puts a hand on my thigh, then jerks it back. “Sorry, I should have asked first.”
I smile, loving that he’d like to ask my permission before touching me. And I realize I want him to touch me, so I reach over and grab his hand, placing it on my leg. He gives a gentle squeeze and warmth floods through my body as my heart begins to pick up the pace. I take another sip of my cocoa, and that warmth continues to spread throughout my body.
“So what else do you like besides the same weird things I do?” I ask him.
“I enjoy learning new things. Studying the human machine. Cooking.” He lifts his shoulder. “In all honesty, my work doesn't leave me a lot of downtime. I was so driven to succeed as a younger person that I never got a chance to learn who I really am because I was so busy working to get ahead.”
His words echo through me and I realize that I completely understand what he's saying. “And now you just feel like you're scrambling to figure out who you are and what you like, even though nothing ever seems quite right,” I respond before taking a deep drink of my quickly-cooling cocoa.
He nods his head. “And people think I'm weird because I don't have any hobbies and I don't know what I like.”
Those words hit home, and I realize that we're getting too deep. We're too alike and we have too much in common. He seems like the perfect match for me, but I know better than to let my heart get involved. I can’t help but worry that by the end of all of this, not only will I be hurt and disappointed, but that I might lose more than I can ever get back. I can’t risk everything again. I can’t get hurt like that again. I don’t want to be heartbroken.
He seems to sense my hesitation and changes the topic. “When I was a kid, the fireflies always reminded me of magic. Now I know that they're not magic, of course, but I still have that sense of wonder when I see them, like a kid.”
I can't help but smile. I've always loved fireflies since I was little, and I agree, there’s something magical about them, even when seeing them again after seeing them so many times before. For some reason, the magic of fireflies never seems to wear off.
“Speaking of the stars,” I say, glancing up into clear skies and loving the scattered lights blinking and twinkling overhead.
He follows my gaze and my chest expands as I feel so very small in an instant. The universe is so expansive, so massive, and here we are, fragments of space dust in such a rush to live our lives before we die in the blink of an eye compared to the rest of the galaxy. Life is so short. So very short.
I turn to face him and catch him studying me. “You're more fascinating than the stars,” he says, as if in response to my glance.
“I don't agree, but thank you.” As I say the words, he leans closer and reaches out with one hand to gently cup my face. His touch sends an electric jolt through my skin, and I feel my lips part in surprise. He looks deep into my eyes and moves very slowly, as if asking my permission without words. I'm very aware of the fact that I could pull away at any time or turn my face in a different direction and he'll back off.
If I was smart, I'd do that.
But clearly I'm not smart, because instead I watch him approach, frozen, and very aware I want him to kiss me. This is a terrible idea and nothing good can come from him kissing me. And as my heart and head battle, I try to decide what to do next. I know that the right answer is to look away, but I don't want to.
“I like you, Moira,” he whispers, his lips so close they nearly brush against mine. “And I want to kiss you.”
“Then shut up and do it already,” I whisper oh-so-sweetly.
The corners of his lips curve and he closes the slight gap between us. His lips are warm and soft and taste like chocolate and heaven. I open up to him, wanting more, deeper, as electric excitement tears through me. His kiss is soft, tender, patient, as if he's waiting for me to tell him no. Our tongues meet and dance, swirling around one another as if we were made to kiss like this, and that excitement within me evens out to a dull hum of desire.
There's something so inviting about the way he kisses me. I like him more than I want to admit, and his kiss makes me feel things that I shouldn't feel. His hand lowers from my cheek to my neck and his thumb rubs gently against my windpipe, sending a shiver down my spine. It's as if he's giving me a gentle peek at the kind of lover he's going to be, and that sends my pulse slamming. There's no way that he's that perfect for me.
His other fingers find the quickening thump of blood in my neck and apply gentle pressure that has my whole body roaring to life and desperate for him.
If I don't stop him now, we might not stop at all.
Because every subtle indication he's giving me about how he’d pleasure my body has every nerve in my being lighting up and desperate for more. I want him. I want more than kisses, more than these adorable dates. I want to take him to Club Red.
And I want him to take me.
Chapter Ten
