“Travis gets pissy about me reading at night. Says I keep him up with the light, so I’m stealing a little time before the sun decides to show its face.”
What kind of idiot complains about a damn light when he could have his hands all over this woman instead?
I move toward the light switch. “Mind if I…?”
“Sure. Your house, your rules.” The words roll off her tongue with a hint of sass that has me fighting a grin.
I flick on the lights but keep them dim, just enough to see, and holy hell, that was both the best and worst decision of my life.
She’s barefaced, flushed from sleep, and somehow looking softer than I’ve ever seen her. I catch the glint of black polish on her toes against the pale wood. It’s such a tiny, insignificant detail, but it does something to me.
“So what are you reading?” She chuckles at my question and flips her phone face down on the table. “What?” The laugh that escapes my throat is rough because damn if she isn’t the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
“Trust me, this isn’t your speed.”
“Try me.”
Her leg drops, and she leans forward, stretching those delicate hands across the table as her gaze drags over my bare chest. When her eyes finally meet mine, the heat in them could torch this whole house down.
“Let’s just say it’s about a musician who can’t keep his hands off his bandmate’s twin sister.”
“That’s what gets you going? Boys in bands? Because I’ve got a brother who’s a singer, and we’ll have to keep you far away from him at family events if that’s your thing.”
“Oh, please.” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “Everyone knows Colton Crawford isn’t just some boy with a guitar. That man’s in a league of his own.”
“Does my son know you’re crushing on his uncle?” I turn to the coffee maker, desperate for something to do with my hands that doesn’t involve wanting to reach out and touch her.
“Your son wouldn’t give a shit if I was on my knees for the entire Crawford family so long as I do what I’m told and play the perfect girlfriend in front of his mom.” I turn to face her, and she freezes, horror flooding those beautiful eyes as her hand flies to her mouth. “God, I shouldn’t have— I’m sorry.”
“Listen, Piper, whatever’s going on with you and Travis, I’m not picking sides just because he shares my DNA. I’m on the side of doing right by people. That’s it. That’s all that matters.”
Her hand drops from those perfect lips, and she moves to stand right beside me at the machine. Her body heat slams into me, and when she leans over to put her mug in the sink, that sweet strawberry scent wraps around me like a noose. It clings to the back of my throat and settles on my tongue, and all I can think about is how she’d taste first thing in the morning.
I keep my eyes straight ahead. I have to because if I look at her right now, if I so much as glance, I’ll stop pretending to be a good man, and I’ll do exactly what I’ve been fantasizing about since the moment she walked into my world.
Like how easy it would be to lift her onto this counter, drop to my knees, and eat her pussy until we both see heaven—or hell.
Probably hell because I’m pretty sure I’ve got a one-way ticket down there at this point.
“Regardless of your stance, I shouldn’t have disrespected him in front of you. I’m sorry for that.” I force myself to face her because I’m a goddamn masochist, and fuck me, we’re close.
“Don’t ever apologize for your own feelings.” She nods, and the electricity between us is nuclear. “You look like you’re about to bolt from this kitchen, but I’d be happy for you to stay and keep reading. I’ll leave you be.”
“You don’t have to leave. You’re pretty quiet, so you won’t disturb me.” She smiles as she says it, sliding back into her chair like this is our normal.
I make her a fresh coffee and set it down in front of her before dropping into the chair opposite.
I’m forcing myself to watch the clock.
Watch my thoughts.
Watch anything but her.
But it’s fucking useless because no matter how hard I try to keep my head on straight, my gaze keeps finding its way back to her. She’s sitting across from me, lips slightly parted, hair falling across her face in a way that makes me want to reach across the table and tuck it back behind her ear, just to touch her.
She clears her throat and shifts in her seat. It’s subtle, but I see it—the press of her thighs, the restless way she moves, like something is burning her up from the inside out.
She’s turned on.
