Show Time (Juniper Ridge Romantic Comedies #1) - Tawna Fenske Page 0,40
again, eyes searching mine. “I almost kissed you in a public pool in front of my brother and sister. How reckless is that?”
“A little?” Okay, it’s out in the open now. We’re talking about this instead of pretending it didn’t happen. “But we didn’t. Kiss, I mean.”
“Barely.” He glances back into the house. “But we should probably keep it from happening.”
Odd how his voice tilted up at the end. Something about that makes me bold. “Was that a question or a statement?”
He looks at me. “What?”
“It almost sounded like a question.”
“You mean whether or not we should kiss?” His smile is halfway between amusement and a grimace. “We’d have to be idiots.”
“Stupid,” I agree, trying to sound like I mean it.
“Next-level morons.”
“Yep.” I nod, pretty sure I’ve convinced myself. “I mean, we’ve both sworn off relationships.”
“Right? There’s that.” He glances at the mountains again as a cloud passes over his face. “So we can just be grownups about this—this—whatever this is between us.”
He waves a hand, and I don’t know if the word he’s looking for is “chemistry” or something else. Something neither of us could describe, but both of us are feeling. I’m not the only one; I can see it in his eyes.
I try to step back, to put a bit more space between us.
But my feet hear the message wrong and move toward him instead. I’m inches away now, close enough to smell the grassy shampoo and something else. Something uniquely Dean Judson that sets my blood bubbling and my breath hitching in my throat.
“We’re both adults.” I lick my lips, pretty sure this isn’t what he meant by being grownups. “If we did kiss—hypothetically, I mean—we’d just be getting it out of our systems.”
He stares at me like he’s waiting for the laugh track. “What, like one time?”
I nod, even though this is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. “Maybe that’s all this is. Just sexual tension that’ll go away if we let the air out.”
“Like a balloon,” he says, and I wince. “Okay, no balloons. One of those float rings at the waterpark. Like stabbing a knife in one or something.”
“Yeah, this is good.” I nod, conscious of how close we are. How I could stretch up and kiss him so easily. “Talking about balloons and stabbing is turning me off already.”
But Dean’s turning me on. Standing this close to him, breathing in his scent, sharing the same space.
I don’t know who steps forward first, him or me. All I know is that we collide like bumper cars, our bodies connecting with an invisible splash of sparks. As his lips touch mine, I hear myself gasp.
Then we’re kissing, and this is nothing at all like letting the air out. If anything, I’m filled to bursting, the seams of my skin prickling under pressure. I slide my fingers into his hair, gripping tighter than I mean to. Instead of pulling back, Dean deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing mine as I arch tight against him.
I know we should stop. Somewhere in the back of my brain, there’s the frantic ding of a warning bell. But it clangs to the beat of my throbbing pulse, urging me on instead of pushing me away. I kiss him back, hungry to make the most of this.
We can’t do this again, we both know that. Maybe that’s why we’re so frantic, so starving for each other’s touch. Dean’s got his hand on my ass, and I’m conscious of how big it is, how the rest of him matches. His arms, his chest, the hardness in his jeans that I know I shouldn’t keep rubbing against, but I can’t seem to help it.
Dean groans but doesn’t break the kiss. His fingers are tangled up in my hair, his kisses more urgent with each heartbeat. I’m conscious of my fingers clutching the front of his shirt, conscious of how little it would take to rip the thin cotton off his body and run my tongue between those perfect pecs I’ve already touched. Would this be so different?
“Vanessa.” He breaks the kiss, breathless, like he’s tearing off a limb. “We should—” He breaks off and glances at the door.
I lick my lips. “We should what?”
Stop? Go inside and have wild monkey sex on the table?
How can both things sound so wrong and so right?
Dean’s still holding me, and I move against him. A small movement, so tiny. But my hip grazes the bulge in his jeans, and he groans and closes his eyes.