damn bit of difference anyway.
Pretty sure he’s going to get eaten up tonight regardless. Not by the mosquitos, but by me.
Lying back, I curl up in his arm and stare up at the spectacle in the sky.
“My favorite fireworks are the ones that start out one color and then change to another,” I say, my ear resting over the steady beat of his heart. “What about you?”
“I like them all,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I don’t think I could pick.”
“Come on, you have to have a favorite.”
“The red ones, I guess.”
“That’s boring. The red ones are just . . . red. They don’t do anything crazy like some of the other ones.”
“Judge much?”
“It’s just, you’re not even trying to have a favorite. You only said red just to say red.”
The sky lights up, the last firework turning it a dozen different colors all at once.
“Fine,” he says. “That one. I like that one. The one that’s every color.”
“And why do you like it?”
“Because it’s interesting. And unpredictable. And different from all the other fireworks.”
I smile, nuzzling my cheek into his chest. The show continues on, the fireworks whistling and popping and cracking and exploding above us, showering the night sky with color and light.
Ace rolls to his side, his blue-green stare holding mine, his hand on my hip. “I want to kiss you so fucking bad, Aidy.”
“I want to kiss you too.” I lift my brows, lips pursed. “But . . .”
He tries.
Oh, Lord, does he try.
But I stay firm in my conviction, pressing my palm against his chest and keeping a safe several inches between our mouths. My skin is finally starting to sting less, and I spent nearly a half hour color-correcting and concealing earlier. I’d like to return to the city tomorrow not looking like I just finished eating a cherry pie straight from the pie pan.
“Fuck it.” Ace stands, pulling me up.
Laughing, I ask, “What are you doing?”
He threads his hand in mine, leading me off the dock and over the rocks, back toward the house as the firework show begins to die down. Once we’re inside, he leads me to his room. I didn’t sleep in here last night because I wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted. He was so quiet after we had sex, and I didn’t want to be presumptive.
“Stay here.” Ace leads me to the foot of his bed and leaves the room.
Patiently, I wait.
I scan the room, looking at all his things and taking in my surroundings. His bed is definitely vintage, and so is the quilt that covers it. There’s a single signed baseball on the dresser, packaged in a small glass box, and a stack of books, mostly classics, rests on his nightstand.
The hiss and pop of the fireworks outside has dissipated to nothing, and I’m not sure how much time has passed, but none of that matters the second I hear his footsteps from the hallway.
Bracing myself, I watch the doorway, spotting his prelude in the form of a shadow.
When Ace finally appears, my jaw falls.
“Will you kiss me now?” He stands, hands hooked on his narrow hips, eyes flashing with palpable lust.
“Oh, sweet Jesus.” I’m breathless just looking at him.
His face is completely clean shaven, and I feel like I’m seeing him for the first time all over again, only he looks nothing like that incensed man who chased me down the sidewalk. Ace’s heavy stare is directed at me, his chest rising and falling as we stand here in limbo.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him if I tried.
And I don’t want to.
“Well?” he asks.
“What the hell are you waiting for?” I spring up, running to him. Slipping my arms around his neck, I practically crawl up his muscled body.
Ace’s hands cup my ass, and I graze my lips across his, reveling in the soft smoothness. He smells clean, like cologne and shaving cream and aftershave. I drag his scent into my lungs, kissing him harder, slipping my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.
And as he carries me to his bed, our hands greedily tearing at our clothes, it occurs to me that I didn’t notice his scar.
In fact, I didn’t even see it.
I was too distracted by his beauty, by the handsome stranger standing before me, to even care.
Within seconds, I’m naked, lying dead center in the middle of his bed. There’s a warm slickness between my legs and I’m pulsing, physically aching for his touch. By the