Here With You (A Laurel Heights Novel) - By Kate Perry Page 0,27

felt off-kilter and confused.

He was dying for another kiss.

The problem was that he wasn't sure Nicole felt the same way, and pushing her too far could cost him the one person who meant as much to him as his family. He was torn between respecting her and getting her to take a chance.

A surge of desire made him stand up. One chance, one night. If he didn't try, he'd always wonder, and he didn't make it a habit to live with regrets. Before he could talk himself into sense, he strode to her door and opened it.

Startled, Nicole looked up from the book she was reading in bed.

Grif took her in: her mussed hair, her face innocent of makeup, the temptingly bare shoulders. He swallowed back the urge to crawl into bed with her and love her with his body. "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?" Glaring, she pulled the sheets up to her neck. "You used to know how to knock."

Smiling, feeling alive for the first time in forever, he knocked on the wall. "Can Nicole come out to play?"

Nicole didn't look amused. She clutched her book in front of her chest. "It's late. I'm in bed, Grif."

"I see that." He wished he could see more. She had the covers pulled up so all that was showing was the thin straps of her top. Pink. He wondered if it was a nightgown, or just a top, and how much was covering the bottom. He tried not to imagine her wearing the underwear she'd drawn in her sketchpad.

Truthfully, since he'd seen her drawings, he'd had a hard time not imagining her in one of those creations. Especially that see-through black one.

He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Let's go out."

"Out?" She blinked at him like he spoke a foreign language she didn't understand. "It's ten-thirty at night."

"Early still. Usually, I'm just getting going right about now."

"But I worked all day." She clutched her book closer to her chest, as if it were armor. "I'm tired."

He looked at the half-naked couple on the cover and read the title. Never Love a Highlander. He smiled. "You still read bodice rippers?"

She frowned indignantly at him. "They aren't bodice rippers. These are stories of love and hope."

"A physical book is so old school these days."

"I read digital books, too. Ebooks are convenient, but there's something to holding pages in your hand." She shrugged, and her strap fell off her shoulder.

It took all his willpower not to go to her and fix it. Or touch her skin. Or bury his face there and breathe her in.

He stepped back, in case his willpower failed. "Come on. Get dressed. The night is wasting."

"I'm tired, Grif," she repeated as though he were a child. "I was on my feet all day, and I just want to stay in bed and read."

It was on the tip of his tongue to invite himself between the sheets with her, but he bit his tongue and then played the guilt card. "Aren't you supposed to be helping me compose? Going out will help me."

She glared at him.

"The sooner I get it together, the sooner I'll be out of your hair," he pointed out, even though the thought didn't sit well with him.

"Fine." She shoved the covers aside.

And then he knew: shorts. Little frilly pink shorts that showed off her legs.

He stared at them, trying not to think about sliding his hands up her skin. In his mind they were smooth and soft and would wrap around his waist enthusiastically.

"Get out so I can get dressed," she said grumpily as she rooted on a chair through clothing piled on a chair in the corner.

"Want me to help?" he asked, not really kidding.

She threw a shirt at his head.

Catching it, he saluted and left the room, closing the door behind him. When it was shut tight, he lifted the shirt and inhaled. It smelled like her. It smelled delicious.

"Does she know?"

Startled, he looked up to find the curious gaze of Nicole's roommate on him.

Standing in the doorway of her bedroom, Susan nodded at the shirt. "Does she know you have a crush on her?"

It wasn't a crush. He didn't know what it was—lust or love, nostalgia or forever—but whatever it was, it was stronger than a crush. "No."

"Don't tell her."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

She gestured him closer, waiting to whisper, "Nicole flits from thing to thing. Men are no different. She loses interest in them faster than she grows tired of her fancy underwear."

"What are