Just a Girl - Becky Monson Page 0,75

back from him. “I’m just doing my job.”

“I know,” he says, his face turning back toward mine, his jaw tight. “I’m just so tired of fighting myself, Quinn.” He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair. Then he lets out a frustrated breath as his hand falls to his side. He takes a step toward me. “I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

“Henry, I . . .” My voice trails off as he takes another step toward me, nearly eliminating the gap between us.

Before I have a chance to say anything else, he leans his head toward me and presses his lips to mine, giving me a soft kiss. It’s almost as if he’s trying to test the waters, dipping a toe in to see how I’ll react. Am I hot, am I cold?

I’m a mixture of both, if I’m being honest. And when he pulls back, his eyes search my face, our breaths intermingling, I have this weird feeling like I’m floating, my feet far from the ground.

I reach up and place a hand on his face, my eyes taking him in, wanting to make sure he’s real and that my crazy brain hasn’t just run off on one of its fantasies like it does.

But it’s really him, and I’m really me, and we’re really here. My touch is apparently all the signal Henry needs, because he wraps his arms around me, walking us backward until my body hits the padded wall behind me, and I react with a soft moan as his lips crash onto mine. There’s no hesitation, no tiptoeing in, just mouth moving over mouth, tongues exploring. His hands pull me closer—I’m fully wrapped up in him. I reach up and tangle a hand in the hair at the base of his head, feeling his thick, dark hair between my fingers.

My mind goes off on its own: white picket fences, blue doors, prams . . . I can’t go there because I have no idea what any of this means. Henry could pull his lips from mine and decide that this is a mistake, and I’ll be left here feeling possibly worse than I was before because now I know . . . I know how it feels to have his lips fully on mine, his hands on my body. The low, deep grumble he makes in his throat when I run my tongue along his bottom lip. I won’t be able to unknow this. It will be burned on my brain forever.

Our kisses slow from their frantic pace to something more slow, more tender. Henry nips my bottom lip with his teeth, and I feel like I could melt into this padded wall behind me, being so thoroughly and utterly kissed.

I want more from him. I need more. He can’t dangle this in front of me and take it away. I don’t think I could recover.

The kissing slows even further, now just long, lingering lip-to-lip action without all the wild frenzy. When Henry finally pulls his mouth away and leans his forehead against mine, my lips feel swollen and slightly numb. We’re both breathless, and we’re both smiling.

“I have wanted to do that for a while,” he says.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he says, pulling back his face so we’re now eye to eye. “Didn’t you know? Couldn’t you tell?”

“I . . . No . . . I couldn’t tell.”

“Oh,” he says, his voice soft. His eyes move downward. “I . . . but was this okay, then?”

I answer by putting my fingers under his chin and leaning in. The vulnerability in his eyes is back—the man I went on those three wonderful dates with is finally standing in front of me.

I place a kiss on his lips. “Yes, this is so okay. I’ve wanted you to do that, too.”

He lets out a relieved chuckle and then wraps his arms fully around me once more, nuzzling his face into my neck with a low grumbling sound that does wild things to my insides.

I rub my hands up and down his back, loving that I’m in his arms, wanting so much more than this from him. I want a relationship, a commitment. Does this mean he’s throwing caution to the wind? Does this mean he wants to be with me, despite all of his self-imposed rules?

I don’t want to ask him now—I don’t want to ruin the moment. This nearly perfect moment in the audio booth.

Unfortunately, I do have to ruin the moment: with reality. “The night