to the hollow dip at the base of her throat. Tracing along the notch, I lick my lips once more.
I could kiss her.
I want to kiss her.
Then I tell myself this desire is only because I haven’t kissed anyone in seven years. And kissing Rita would be a huge mistake. Despite my raging hard-on and racing heart, I cannot make a move on Rita. I’m needy but not desperate enough to fuck my boss.
“I gotta go,” I state, my voice gravelly rough. Abruptly, I release her, hovering my hand over her skin for a mere second as her heat sizzles off my palm. She’s a flame, and I’m a moth, and that is just not a game I dare to play.
Taking a large step back, I do a quick scan of the floor, unable to focus on anything I might be searching for, and then I take the stairs two at a time to get myself the hell out of the house and away from the intoxicating draw of Rita.
5
Rita
He almost kissed me.
Despite the slam of the front door, I remain where I am, holding the studs at my back like I’m nailed to them. I was drowning under him. His scent. His nearness. The touch of his hand on my skin. His fingers massaging my neck before his palm skittered to my shoulder. The calming effect he intended did not work. His hesitant touch made my heart race faster. I was ready to beg for him to lower that thick palm and touch me in other places. Then he stopped.
I gotta go.
His touch left my skin scorched.
My gaze drifts to the work lamp, no longer illuminated and evidently cooled from whatever landed on it. I don’t know what happened to me. I’ve never had a panic attack in my life. Not ever. One minute, I was watching Jake, heart fluttering, belly twisting, and then the sizzle occurred on the work light. A stream of smoke and the flicker of the bulb set my imagination running.
Ian.
I can’t say it’s been a long time since I’ve thought of my former fiancé because I think of him nearly every day. But the ache of his loss isn’t as strong as it once was or as fierce as when he first passed.
Fire.
I wasn’t sensitive to flame, but that snap and pop along with the lingering hiss triggered something inside my mind. Forgotten nightmares, I suppose. The ones I used to wash away with alcohol.
While other people might head to a bar after a moment like this to settle their nerves or numb their senses, I typically call my sponsor or go to a meeting to right myself. Tonight, I know where I need to go, as coffee has become my new drug of choice. Sitting on that damn couch might instill more wayward ideas about Jake, but I need my happy place.
He almost kissed me.
Those cinnamon-red lips were right here, so close I could almost taste the spicy hotness. Recalling the ruggedness of his cheek against mine sends another shiver down my spine. The toughness of his hand at my throat causes me to swallow, and his phantom caress lingers.
I would have let him take me against these beams if he had wanted me.
Which he clearly does not.
I gotta go.
With a shaky hand, I squeeze my forehead dismissing both my momentary panic attack and my overwrought imagination. Pushing off the studs behind me, I take another glance at the darkened lamp. My mind further represses memories of Ian. A refreshing gin and tonic could heal the tremor in my knees, but I know what I need is more than something to numb my thoughts. A dark roast and a baby fix are better than alcohol.
My best friend, Scarlett Russell, now Scarlett Eaton, became a momma at forty-two, and I couldn’t be happier, especially as I get to reap the benefits of playing Aunt Rita.
“Give him to me,” I coo when Scarlett meets me at the Busy Bean. I called her after the incident with Jake. The incident will henceforth be called the non-kiss incident. Some baby cuddles and nonsense murmurings will be a good distraction, and Scarlett was more than willing to get out of her house in the late afternoon.
My oldest friend had a rough go of things about a year ago. Her no-good cheating husband had gotten himself in a pickle when he dipped his dill into one of his med students who ended up pregnant. Scarlett left him and came