you don’t know me.”
He trailed his fingers along that throat. “I know enough,” he said. “And I know enough to know that what I’ll learn won’t change that fact.”
She swallowed.
“Okay?”
Her nostrils flared on an inhale. Then they relaxed, her mouth curving into a small smile. “Okay.”
“Friends, too?”
Her lips tipped up further. “We all usually have dinner on Thursday. If we’re all in town,” she added.
“Are you having dinner this Thursday?”
A nod.
“I’m coming.”
“Okay,” she said again.
“Okay.” He brought her a little closer. “And now, I’m going to kiss you.”
“It’s about time.”
Sweet and soft, a flash of fire and spice . . . and red, red lips. God, he liked this woman.
He dropped his head, took her mouth in a kiss that he felt to his toes, that rebuilt him from the bottom up to the top, cell by cell by cell.
Now, he just needed to do the same for her.
Nails clicking on the floor had broken their kiss.
Or rather, their make out session, as their kiss had transitioned from standing in the middle of that rug to the table where he dropped his keys. He’d set her on top, stepped between her thighs, and let their tongues dance together, all while mentally making a note to fuck her here as soon as possible.
Preferably without two dogs nudging at his knees.
Stef was out of breath and looking deliciously rumpled, her lips swollen, and her fingers clenched into the fabric of his shirt.
He wanted to kiss her again.
To not stop.
But Fred—now nudging harder at the back of his knee—was apparently hungry.
Reluctantly, he pulled his mouth away from Stef’s and glanced down at the cute, fluffy cock-blocker. “You hungry?”
Fred’s tongue lolled out of his mouth in a way that seemed to signal the affirmative. Smothering a smile, he helped Stef down from the table, made sure she was steady on her feet. Then he took her hand and led her into the kitchen.
“Come on, pups”—he slanted a glance to his red-lipped, curvy woman—“and Stef. It’s time for dinner.”
This time, her smile wasn’t filled with any uncertainty.
This time, her smile didn’t come after a moment of hesitation.
This time, she just met his eyes, gave him her unhindered smile, and asked, “What’d you cook me?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Stef
She was waiting outside the restaurant, trying not to shiver against the chilly air, nerves bubbling up in her throat.
It was Thursday.
She and Ben hadn’t spent a night apart since the previous Friday.
Tuesday he’d come to her place.
Wednesday she’d gone to his again.
Tonight she was going back to his place, had actually boarded Fred for the evening, not that he was sad about getting extra doggy day care time, and Ben had asked his assistant—no VP—Claire to watch Sweetheart for the night.
Because he wanted to take her somewhere after dinner.
Somewhere he wouldn’t divulge.
But somewhere he’d said wasn’t time dependent when she’d worried about the dinner running long and ruining his plans.
He’d merely nuzzled her throat, fingers threading through her hair, and had told her, “It’ll hold if you’re too tired or it gets late. Just have fun with your friends, and we’ll see how it goes.”
And her heart, already vulnerable from that first night nearly a week ago, from the dinner he’d cooked on Monday and brought for her on the other days, from the coffee and bagel and food for Fred, from the other small things he’d paid attention to, had firmly cracked open.
She was exposed.
She was gone for him.
As she’d known she would be three months before, when she’d avoided that coffee date.
As she’d known when he’d left on Sunday, and she’d convinced herself he wouldn’t come back.
And Stef was scared.
So fucking happy and sexually sated and enjoying the hell out of Ben, but she was also scared of what would happen to her when it ended. Still when, no matter if he’d said he’d stick around. Because a week wasn’t enough time for him to find what everyone else had, to know her, all of her, including the parts that made people leave.
So, she was scared for a lot of reasons—because he might—probably would—leave and then she would be broken, because he might not show up that evening or her friends might hate him or—
Knuckles down her cheek.
A soft kiss to her forehead. “I’m going to show you,” he murmured against her skin, slipping an arm around her shoulders and tugging her close.
And that right there was another reason she was freaking terrified.
Because she wanted to believe him.
Was quite desperate to.
Was quite desperate to kiss him, since it