Not So Far Away (Worlds Collide The Duets #1) - LL Meyer Page 0,73
ignore it. I meant it. I’m not sleeping with him tonight.
“What should we order for dinner?” he asks a bit tightly, trying to shift my hips away from his without being obvious.
“Are you going to stay for a while then?”
He kisses my temple before planting me on the couch beside him so he can dig his cell out of his pocket. “I told you, you’re not getting rid of me.”
An arc of longing begins to twine between us. God, he’s as beautiful as ever, his jaw still strong, his lips still inviting, his dark eyes still expressive, framed by his bangs that brush his forehead.
“Opal,” he says, his voice low. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I whisper.
“Like you want me to strip you naked.”
“That sounds . . .” completely delicious “. . . like a bad idea.”
“Yeah, the worst.”
Oh, shit. Is he leaning in? I scramble back. “We agreed,” I blurt.
He lounges back on the sofa cushions, barely repressing a smirk. “Chinese okay?” he asks casually like he wasn’t about to kiss me.
I want to be as laid back as he is and say something flirty but all I manage to get out is a squeaky, “Sure, thanks.”
While he orders the food, I dispose of my now congealed soup that’s in the microwave. When he comes up behind me, I’m facing the sink, lost in a choppy sea of hope and despair. “You really think we have a shot at this?” I ask carefully.
His arms curl around me, and again, I can’t resist the offered reassurance.
“Yeah, I do.” He nuzzles into my shoulder, chuckling softly before he goes on. “And now that I know about your cougar status, you’re more under my skin than ever.”
“My what?” I choke out in surprise, though a second later, I’m repressing a laugh. “Take that back. I’m at least a decade short on cougar status.”
“Fine. Cradle robber then.”
My low shriek of outrage is corrupted by more laughter. “You make it sound like you’re a teenager. When exactly do you turn twenty-three?”
“Not until November.”
“We’re only four years apart.”
“The end of November,” he says, needling me further. “That’s way closer to five years.”
“And your point is?” I ask, slightly exasperated as he lets me go so I can turn and face him.
“My point is,” he says, his brows arching, “I think it’s hot as fuck.”
I bite my lip to stop a pleased smile from starting. “Is that so?”
“Uh, yeah. You going to tell me when exactly your birthday is?”
“On Thursday.”
That surprises him.
“I’m going to need presents,” I announce with mock arrogance, liking him off kilter.
Slowly a grin spreads across his face. “Oh, I’m sure I’ve got something I can give you,” he says suggestively, reaching for me once again. I’m saved by the intercom’s shrill buzz that announces our dinner. Slipping down the hall, I grab the receiver off the wall and let the delivery driver into the building just as rough hands grab my waist and turn me.
“Tell me I can kiss you.”
“I . . .” My mind blanks as his palms slide along my jaw, one of his thumbs brushing my bottom lip.
“Please,” he whispers, his mouth already so close to mine that I feel his breath on my face.
“Okay.” The syllables are barely formed before he’s kissing me like his life depends on it, giving me sure, strong strokes of his lips and tongue that have my insides turning to liquid fire.
A minute later, when the delivery guy knocks on the door beside us, we pause briefly, but my soft whimper has him plundering my mouth again. The knocking is louder the second time.
Scott grudgingly releases his grip on me to open the door. Glaring at the poor kid, he passes me the food, while I try to hold in my laughter. Why is his irritation so endearing?
While we unpack the food, the air shimmers around us with potent, unfulfilled desire. God, if I’m going to stick to my principles, I’ve got to find a distraction.
“So, um, where is your family from originally?” I ask, sitting on a stool at the island to fill my plate.
He eyes me like he knows exactly what my game is. “My grandfather was born in Texas, but his parents were from Sinaloa, and my grandmother grew up in a small town near Acapulco. So, Mexico. You?”
Stop watching his mouth, Ellie. “Well, I told you my mom was born in Poland. And supposedly, my dad’s family practically came over on the Mayflower.”