You deserve to be courted, and that’s what you’re going to get.”
I couldn’t help it anymore. Pavement or no, curious glances or no. I bent my head and kissed her, and this time, she kissed me back. Tentatively, and then getting a little bolder, her warm body pressed against mine and my hand on her hip pulling her in. And the heat licked up in me like a tongue of flame.
Going slow was going to kill me.
I was going to do it anyway.
38
A Rupture of the Fibrous Tissue
Daisy
The man could kiss. He didn’t grab you and smash his lips against yours. He did it like it was all he wanted to do. Like he wanted to taste and touch and explore all of you, but with so much tenderness. He didn’t just dive for the prize, either. He kissed the corner of my mouth, then my cheek, gentle as you please, and by the time he came back to my mouth again, I wanted it more. One of his hands cradled my head, and the other one was pulling me up closer. On my hip, not my bum, but I could tell he wanted to go there. I could feel the urgency in him, and his body was so solid. My hands were on his shoulders, and there was so much there to hold on to.
I heard some laughter, a muttered “Get a room, bro,” and didn’t care, but Gray was lifting his mouth from mine, then cuddling me close and saying, his voice a bit strangled, “Pretend this is me being tender. It’s actually me not being in a fit state to walk down the street with you. That was meant to be a sweet kiss to seal our deal and show you I meant it. You were better at it than I expected, though. Hang on a sec. Bloody hell.”
I smiled, put my hands on his chest, kissed him there, snuggled up closer, and said, “I’m getting that you meant it.” I kissed his chest again, because it was right there under that plaid workingman’s shirt, thought about sliding a hand up under it, regretfully decided that I really couldn’t do that on the street, and asked, “Is this helping?”
“No,” he said, but his hand was still on my back, and he wasn’t exactly pushing me away. “Bloody hell, woman.” Which made me smile some more.
“So how does this work?” I asked him when we’d finally made it to the café and I was getting stuck into my favorite Good Oil breakfast: pumpkin & rosemary loaf, bacon, spinach, beetroot relish, and poached egg. “Also, I’m a bit disappointed that you’re not more adventurous.”
He looked up, startled. “Pardon?”
I gestured at his plate. “Smoked-salmon eggs bennie? Thought you were meant to be my education.”
His smile started slow, then spread. “Challenging me already? Thought we were going easy. Courting, eh.”
“I realized how good you are at kissing, that’s why,” I said, taking another bite. “Before, I thought you were just, you know …”
He eyed me skeptically. “What? I’m fascinated to hear. In a horrified sort of way.”
“That it was like … kissing your sister,” I said. “Or a friend. Because you’d cuddle me and give me a kiss. You know. Casually.”
He set down his knife and fork and said, “Daisy.” Trying to be severe, which was cute. “What kind of friends do you imagine I have? And I’m pretty sure you’re not meant to kiss your sister like that, either. Not if you don’t want to be arrested.”
“Well, now,” I said. “But before?”
“Before, too. I don’t want to have this sister conversation. Creepy as hell. No. No sisters. Yours or mine.”
“Geez, you’re firm, all of a sudden. I thought this was all going to be, you know … gentle. Sweet. New Age.”
Now, he was staring at me, looking horrified. I fought the urge to giggle, widened my eyes at him, and took another bite of spinach and beetroot.
“It’s not …” he started to say. “I’m not …” Then, “Stop teasing.”
“Oh,” I said. “Sorry. I’m a beginner. As we’ve noted.”
He said, “I’m not pounding my head on the table. That’s because I’m a disciplined man.”
“Also,” I said, “migraines.”
“That too. New topic. Tell me about your night.”
Pity. I’d never been good at flirting, but I was finding my stride, and it was fun.
Oh, well. “Want the sad ones,” I asked, “or the funny ones?”
“Whichever you want to tell,” he said, which was, yes, sweet. And possibly New Age.