I clear my throat. How best should I approach this? “No, no. It was a date after all, right?”
I pull up to a red light and fist my hands around the steering wheel. The scarred skin on my hands tightens uncomfortably.
Carina swallows audibly. “Suppose it was. Does that make us bad people? We’ve hidden behind interviews for our entire relationship. This is new, and I’m not sure if it’s wrong.” This isn’t wrong. No, everything before this was wrong. This is my right. It makes sense, it’s the most visceral, real circumstance since my accident.
“It’s not wrong. Don’t think that for a second.” After several long talks on the phone with my mother, she gets it. She still talks to Megan, so I think my gracious ex-fiancée has a hand in her acceptance. Margaret Eppington loves Megan as much as I used to. Or so I’vesurmised. On the last call, she told me she knows about Carina and the novel. “No one thinks anything is wrong about us,” I say.
Carina sighs but nods. Pulling into Jasmine’s driveway, I pull the gearshift up to put my truck into park. She shivers as I wrap my arm around her small shoulders and guide her to the front door. I stroke her bare, tan skin with one finger just to see if goose bumps will rise. They do.
She spins out of my grasp and faces me head-on. “I’m only me, Smith.” She’s confusing yet perfectly clear at the same time. Only is a dangerous word, though. It’s used as an excuse.If only I had more time. I’m only insert self-deprecating adjective here. I’m only me.
I take her cheeks in my hands. The flawless, smooth skin on her face makes the skin on my own hands look atrocious. “That’s a good thing because you’re the only person I want.”
She places her hand over mine to hold it in place. Carina shakes her head, but her eyes tell me that I’m the person she wants regardless of what she thinks of herself or of my past with Megan. I’m overwhelmed by the urge to hold her—to kiss her—to claim her as my own in this new, most desirable way.
“This seems so complicated. Or am I overanalyzing?” she asks, her eyes closing in a slow, lazy blink but meeting mine directly after.
“Are you happy?” I ask. It’s such a loaded question.She’s been through so much with Roarke that asking for her happiness now seems selfish and rushed, but I’m asking anyway. I don’t need validation in my job, because I know I’m good—the best even. With Carina, it’s different. I don’t have a rule book. I don’t know what comes next. She surprises me and keeps me on my toes.
A strand of hair blows across her face, and I catch it between my fingertips. She smiles. “I am. If I put everything else aside and think about you and me, I’m happy. Yes.”
My heart pounds, and the blood rushes to my head. Pure elation. “I think it’s simple. Happiness is what it comes down to. If I make you happy and our arrangement makes you happy, then let’s forget about the rest. Let’s do this, Carina.”
“Very honorable indeed. I see what you mean about taking the moral high ground,” Carina smarts. She rubs her hands down my biceps and stops when she’s holding my forearms in her hands. “Okay.”
It was easy. It was effortless. “You’ll move in with me?”
She slides her hands down a little more and holds both of mine in hers. “Mainly to finish my book. And to house-sit.”
I bite my bottom lip to hold back laughter. “Of course,” I say. I squeeze her hands to make sure this moment is real. “We’ll start looking tomorrow then. If your schedule allows, of course.”
Carina frowns and tilts her head down.
“What is it?” I ask, confused.
“Nothing. Nothing,” she says, fixing a smile. “Tomorrow will work perfectly.”
I grunt. “I know better than that. What’s wrong?”
“I was just thinking about my story,” Carina replies. She tucks her hair behind her ears. “I just remembered I have some plot holes to patch up.”
“Can I be of any help?” I ask. With one thumb, I cradle her face and draw the finger across her lower lip. My tongue slides out of its own accord to wet my own lips. I never really want for many things in life. I don’t remember wanting anything more than I want Carina Painter’s lips on mine. I lean down and feel my breath stick in my chest.
She sighs through parted lips, and I feel her warm breath on my finger. Oh god, to taste her sweet lips would be the ultimate satisfaction, but I can’t. Not yet, at least.
“Are you going to kiss me?” she asks, her voice low and husky.
I use honesty as my weapon. “I want to kiss you badly. I want to taste you. Your lips haunt my dreams. Maybe I could finally match my dreams with reality if I did it, if I leaned forward a few more inches and claimed you,” I say, leaning down toward her even more, until her lips are a breath away from my own. A tiny puff of a sigh exits her mouth. It’s anticipation. It’s desire in spades. It’s fire.
“And,” she edges.
“But I want all of you more,” I say. Leaning away is painful for numerous reasons. My cock, bless it, is already at full attention at her mere proximity, and every nerve ending in my godforsaken body wants Carina all over me. Not just her lips. Her skin. Her hair. Every particle that forms this woman calls to every part of me. “As badly as I want your lips, I’m not going to rush this. It’s going to be perfect.”
She lets out a pent-up breath. When I see her lips pull into a tight, frustrated line, I grin. She reaches up, locks her hands around my neck, and pulls herself to my body for an embrace. “There is such a thing as being too honorable,” Carina mutters in my ear.
I chuckle and pull her tighter.
I know she feels me hard against her. I know my heart is hammering against her body in a very noticeable way. I’m aware that in every light touch, I’m falling deeper and deeper, sliding sideways, skidding to a place where I’ve never been. Not as this version of Smith Eppington, at least. Her delicate curves coexist with my own hard, flat planes in perfect harmony.
