Nonstop (Open Skies #3) - Becca Jameson Page 0,8

see a welcoming patio with wicker furniture arranged around a firepit. To one side was a hot tub.

He took her hand and led her through a wide arch that led into the living room. Warm. Inviting. Plush khaki carpet. A khaki sofa and armchairs. There was even a fireplace, and it looked electric. She could imagine sitting in this room cozied up with him, staring at the flames.

He took her purse from her shoulder and set it on the end table before leading her down the hallway, her hand loosely in his. Pointing from side to side, back and forth, he spoke. “Guest bath. Office. Guest room. Weight room. Master bedroom.”

She glanced in each room and followed him back to the living room.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Water would be nice.”

Without releasing her fingers, he pulled her back into the kitchen and over to the island. “Have a seat.” He pointed toward a bar stool and finally released her.

She watched his fantastic ass as he opened the fridge and then bent over to grab two bottles of water. Her pulse picked up. She could see herself dating this man. Spending time in this home. Watching movies with him, curled against his chest.

Having sex with him in that master bedroom she’d glimpsed. On the dark wood, king-sized bed. Right? She could do this. It was what normal women did.

After twisting off the top of her water, he handed it to her. “I have dinner options because I wasn’t sure what you like. How about chicken fettuccini alfredo?”

“Sounds delicious.” Apparently, pastries weren’t the only thing this man cooked. She was intrigued. “Can I do anything?” she asked as he started pulling out ingredients and pans.

“Nope. Just sit there and look pretty.” He winked at her and started working. He was extremely comfortable in the kitchen, never missing a beat while he cooked and kept up the conversation.

She was grateful because she still couldn’t manage to initiate. It didn’t matter. Bracken filled every void with a running series of discussions. By the time dinner was ready, she knew him better than just about anyone. And he knew as much about her.

His cooking was better than most restaurants, and she moaned around more than one bite before she could stop herself. He was undaunted, pleased even.

After they finished, she helped him load the dishwasher and followed him into the living room. He dropped onto the couch and pulled her down next to him. “So, how is date number two going? You think I’m going to get a third?” he asked, his eyes dancing with mirth.

She giggled. “We’ll see,” she managed to joke, her gaze on the way he threaded their fingers together and played with her rings, spinning one of them around with his thumb.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling her closer.

She leaned into his side as he slid his free hand up her back and encouraged her to close the distance. Releasing her fingers, he cupped her face, holding her gaze intently for a long time before licking his lips and drawing her face the last few inches.

When their lips met, she sighed, enjoying everything about this embrace. She loved the way he so tenderly kissed her, his huge hand stroking up and down her back, his other fingers on her chin. It felt like the perfect final scene in a Hallmark movie. The scene when the hero and heroine finally kiss as the credits are rolling. Only this was better, because they were at the beginning of their story.

The kiss lasted for several minutes, but he kept it light—lips, a little tongue, nibbling on her mouth. When he pulled back a few inches, he met her gaze. “You okay?”

She flinched as she realized she was gripping the front of his shirt with her fingers.

He set his hand over hers and squeezed, his gaze searching hers. “I’m not going to drag you into my bedroom and toss you onto my bed on the second date if that’s worrying you.”

She swallowed, her gaze dropping to their combined hands as she forced herself to relax her grip. She hadn’t consciously been thinking about anything except how nice it felt to kiss him, but apparently, the rest of her body had gone on alert. She was also wondering how much what Roger had said was influencing Bracken.

He let go of her hand and lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze again. “Talk to me.”

She drew in a breath. “I’m not so good at talking.”

He