When I climb the steps to Meg’s deck, she’s standing at her sink, coffee cup in hand and her gaze fixed on the view out her window. With the low lighting, her profile is even more striking. Her pert nose and long lashes. Her blonde hair swept back into an elegant twist.
I suck in a cooling breath, then tap my knuckles against the glass. She turns, and her smile is like my own personal sunrise. She sets her mug down and crosses her living room to let me in. Dressed in a skirt with a narrow little belt and a fitted white blouse, she looks every bit the professional. It shouldn’t make me want to wreck her right here in the middle of her kitchen, but I’ve never woken up this empty.
But it’s a reminder that someday—maybe not today, but soon enough—we’ll run out of fake dates, and then…she’ll move on. Sheshould.
Meg slides open the door, her pale blue eyes warm as she smiles up at me. “Morning.”
I step inside and cradle her waist, my hands splaying out so I can ground myself in the warmth of her body and the soft curves I can’t stop thinking about, then lower my lips to hers. Her fresh scent fills my senses, a sharp reminder of those stolen hours we shared.
She softens in my embrace, releasing a whisper of a sigh against my mouth. Her lips linger on mine and her fingerscurl around my forearms. The delicate softness of her hands reminds me of all the ways she touched me. With tenderness and hunger. With care.
When I lean back, her eyes flutter open, and she smiles. “This is a nice surprise. Do you want coffee?”
I want a lot more than that, but I swallow the jumble of words caught in my throat. “Sure.”
She steps back in those dark blue fuck me pumps and saunters back to the kitchen. I suppress a groan because her ass in that skirt should be illegal.
After adjusting myself so I can walk, I follow her. The idea of her parading down the aisle of an airplane while guys get the same view has me gritting my teeth. She’s never mentioned creeps trying to hit on her while she’s on the job, but there’s no way it hasn’t happened. Anyone with a dick would want to bend her over the nearest surface.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I’ve never been the possessive type. I don’t get jealous. A woman wants to be with me? Cool. She doesn’t? Then we’ll both just move along.
I’m not insecure about what I can offer. And I’ve always been clear about what that is. About my limits.
Except with Meg.
For maybe the first time in my life, I don’t want limits.
God, I suck at this. I might know how to pleasure her, annoy her, protect her, even be her fake date, but this—knowing what to say, what not to say, and when to say it? It’s pure anguish.
I pull up a stool at her counter. “Where are you flying?”
She reaches up for a mug, rising on her tippy toes, which does not help me quit thinking about all the ways I’d like to put these kitchen surfaces to work. “Seattle then Anchorage. Tomorrow it’s Dillingham. Then Kodiak.”
“What’s Alaska like in the summer?”
She pours my coffee and carries it over. “Pretty. So manymountains. Flying over the Alaska Range when the sun is rising is a view not to be missed.”
I take a sip, keeping my eyes on her.
“You’ve never been?” She raises her cup to her lips. I try not to stare at the stain her raspberry lipstick leaves on the rim.
Get a fucking grip.I run a hand through my hair. “Never had a reason.”
“Salmon fishing is popular.”
“Fishing is boring.”
She laughs, tilting her head back a little, exposing her delicate throat. It takes me back to the quickening of her pulse beneath my fingers when she came in my lap.
I suppress my groan with another sip of my coffee.
“On that, we agree,” she says, setting down her mug. The bracelet I gave her flashes in the sunlight streaming in through the windows, and I can’t stop myself from reaching for her hand.
She gazes up at me, a question in her eyes.
I caress over the back of her knuckles. “You’re still wearing it.”
Her fingers fold over my palm. “A little extra bravery is always a good idea.”
