Love at First - Kate Clayborn Page 0,71

That morning, it had been from above, outlined by the light from the apartment he never even wanted. She’d seen him like this: tall and lean, his body curved, his head bowed.

He’d looked so far away, so alone.

So untouchable.

She didn’t even realize she’d taken a step forward until he raised his head, and she found herself only inches away, her own face tipped up to meet his gaze. He wasn’t untouchable now: he was flesh and blood and right in front of her. But that—oh, that was too much, wasn’t it? To touch him? That was so forward; that was no way to return a favor.

“Thank you,” she said again, almost a whisper, and had he moved closer, too? Despite her first sight of him, she had been close to him before; she knew she had. She’d been in her bed with him before. He’d touched her in her shower before.

But this was nothing like any before. This was quiet and certain and perfect and new, everything new; her whole body felt new.

“Nora,” he said, a whisper to match her own, and this, too, was novelty, unlike any time he’d said it in all the weeks she’d known him: not a scold or sympathy or a slow down, not anything other than the pure pleasure of saying it. It was the way you said your lover’s name, the way you sometimes softly asserted the fact of their being there, of their being yours.

Mine, she thought, and this time, nothing felt wrong or disloyal about it. She thought about the small steps she’d taken tonight, fixing up this bathroom that had been exactly the same forever, and it was great; of course it was great. It was convenient and helpful for hair-washing and hair-drying and towel-hanging and whatever, but it wasn’t making this place well and truly hers, not in the way that really mattered.

And at the moment, the only way that really mattered felt like it had something to do with the man right in front of her. A claim on this space that she would make entirely for herself.

She moved again. A small step that didn’t feel small at all. She could see the pulse beat along the line of his throat, could see his chest rising and falling with his quickened breaths.

“Will,” she said, something like a question, and felt it like an echo in her heart:

Will

Will

Will

And with barely a hesitation, he gave her his wordless answer.

He bent his head, and set his mouth to hers.

Chapter 12

Oh, he would surely see hell for this.

But god, she felt like heaven.

Only her lips right now—soft, full, giving, perfect—but he knew deep down this one touch was temporary; he knew with heart-hiccupping intensity that he didn’t want to stop there, that if she let him, he’d get his hands and mouth all over her. It felt good to fully acknowledge it, like loosening the cord in his body that had been coiling tighter and tighter since that night on the beach, since that morning on the balcony.

Since before, some voice in his head taunted, and he clenched his fists in his pockets. He didn’t want to think about how far back this went, about how far forward it could go. He didn’t want to spend tonight like he’d spent the past three days, half angry at himself for offering to come back to this place that he knew meant trouble for him, and half hopeful that once he did, this exact thing would happen.

So he silenced the voice, himself, everything, by sinking further into Nora, parting her lips with his own, and when she made a quiet noise of pleasure and slipped her tongue across his bottom lip, it wasn’t like having the cord loosened.

It was like having it cut clean through.

He might’ve groaned in relief as he brought her closer—one hand at the curve of her waist, one tucked into the cool, smooth strands of the hair she still had up—and she came to him like she’d been waiting, putting her arms around him and pressing her whole body against his. All at once it was hunger and heat, Will’s hands firm where they held her, Nora’s fisting at the back of his T-shirt as she pushed up onto her toes, opening her mouth against his, her tongue sweet and seeking. She tasted like something—mint, maybe coffee, too, like first thing in the morning even though it was the dead of night, and he could not get enough of it,

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