mine inside.
His hand merely cupped mine, so gentle it was like he wasn’t holding on to me at all, and his skin felt cool against my heat-burned skin. Then he was taking me by the waist, lifting me down, and setting me gently on the pavement.
He didn’t step back but instead stayed in my personal space—invading it, taking it over. He leaned forward, causing me to lean back, and we bent in a gentle arch while he reached in and collected my sad bag of belongings.
Then he straightened and palmed the edge of the door and smiled, still not moving back.
I ducked around him, brushing up against his side as I moved. The brief contact sent a little sizzle of desire through me.
Get a grip, Katie! I told myself, disgusted with my own behavior.
I heard a soft chuckle from behind, and I resisted the urge to turn and glare at him. Did he know the effect he had on me?
“Come on Katie-cat, let’s go inside. It’s hot out here.”
“Do not call me Katie-cat.”
“Why not?” he said, glancing over his shoulder while he unlocked the front door.
“Because I’m not twelve.”
“Thank God for that,” he muttered as the door swung open and a blast of cool air reached out and beckoned me inside. Summers in the south were brutal and today was a scorcher.
“I love air-conditioning,” I said as I followed him into the house. I pretended not to hear his last remark. I didn’t want to think too closely about what it meant anyway.
“Everyone in the south loves a/c,” he said, pushing the door shut behind me.
His home was beautiful. It was a single-story ranch home with an open layout. We were standing by the front door that opened into a fairly large living room. The walls were off-white and the floors were made out of dark hardwood. There were shades covering the windows but no curtains. The shades were white, so it allowed light to get in without disrupting privacy. The only piece of furniture in the living area was a large gray couch and—big shocker—there was a flat screen mounted to the wall.
From my position, I could see directly into the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a large island with a couple barstools slid underneath. Behind the island, I could make out stainless steel appliances and dark-wood cabinets. There was a space off to the side of the kitchen for a dining table, but there wasn’t one there.
Off to our right was a hallway that I assumed led to the bathroom and bedrooms.
“How long have you lived here?” I asked.
“About six months.”
I made a noise in the back of my throat—a noise that irritated the already sensitive area. “You’ve lived here six months and only managed to get a couch and a TV?”
He grinned. “I have a bed too.”
I rolled my eyes.
He moved into the house, tossing his car keys and cell phone onto the island, and opened the fridge to pull out a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and carried it over toward me, extending it. “How’s your throat?”
“It’s fine, thank you,” I said, taking the offered drink and sipping.
“You gonna stand at the door all night?” he asked, going over and flopping onto the couch.
He took up half of it.
Being here suddenly seemed like a bad idea. I guess I hadn’t thought about what it would be like to be truly alone with him. At the hospital, someone was always out in the hall. The nurses were always coming in and out, but here… here there was only him and me.
He glanced over the back of the couch, his bright eyes spearing me in the fading light of the room. “You hungry?”
My stomach rumbled. I nodded.
“Pizza?”
I nodded again. “Veggie?”
He made a face. “Please tell me you don’t eat nothing but lettuce.”
I smiled, the tense muscles in my back relaxing. “No, but I like veggie pizza.”
“Sausage too?”
I nodded even though sausage
His hand merely cupped mine, so gentle it was like he wasn’t holding on to me at all, and his skin felt cool against my heat-burned skin. Then he was taking me by the waist, lifting me down, and setting me gently on the pavement.
He didn’t step back but instead stayed in my personal space—invading it, taking it over. He leaned forward, causing me to lean back, and we bent in a gentle arch while he reached in and collected my sad bag of belongings.
Then he straightened and palmed the edge of the door and smiled, still not moving back.
I ducked around him, brushing up against his side as I moved. The brief contact sent a little sizzle of desire through me.
Get a grip, Katie! I told myself, disgusted with my own behavior.
I heard a soft chuckle from behind, and I resisted the urge to turn and glare at him. Did he know the effect he had on me?
“Come on Katie-cat, let’s go inside. It’s hot out here.”
“Do not call me Katie-cat.”
“Why not?” he said, glancing over his shoulder while he unlocked the front door.
“Because I’m not twelve.”
“Thank God for that,” he muttered as the door swung open and a blast of cool air reached out and beckoned me inside. Summers in the south were brutal and today was a scorcher.
“I love air-conditioning,” I said as I followed him into the house. I pretended not to hear his last remark. I didn’t want to think too closely about what it meant anyway.
“Everyone in the south loves a/c,” he said, pushing the door shut behind me.
His home was beautiful. It was a single-story ranch home with an open layout. We were standing by the front door that opened into a fairly large living room. The walls were off-white and the floors were made out of dark hardwood. There were shades covering the windows but no curtains. The shades were white, so it allowed light to get in without disrupting privacy. The only piece of furniture in the living area was a large gray couch and—big shocker—there was a flat screen mounted to the wall.
From my position, I could see directly into the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a large island with a couple barstools slid underneath. Behind the island, I could make out stainless steel appliances and dark-wood cabinets. There was a space off to the side of the kitchen for a dining table, but there wasn’t one there.
Off to our right was a hallway that I assumed led to the bathroom and bedrooms.
“How long have you lived here?” I asked.
“About six months.”
I made a noise in the back of my throat—a noise that irritated the already sensitive area. “You’ve lived here six months and only managed to get a couch and a TV?”
He grinned. “I have a bed too.”
I rolled my eyes.
He moved into the house, tossing his car keys and cell phone onto the island, and opened the fridge to pull out a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and carried it over toward me, extending it. “How’s your throat?”
“It’s fine, thank you,” I said, taking the offered drink and sipping.
“You gonna stand at the door all night?” he asked, going over and flopping onto the couch.
He took up half of it.
Being here suddenly seemed like a bad idea. I guess I hadn’t thought about what it would be like to be truly alone with him. At the hospital, someone was always out in the hall. The nurses were always coming in and out, but here… here there was only him and me.
He glanced over the back of the couch, his bright eyes spearing me in the fading light of the room. “You hungry?”
My stomach rumbled. I nodded.
“Pizza?”
I nodded again. “Veggie?”
He made a face. “Please tell me you don’t eat nothing but lettuce.”
I smiled, the tense muscles in my back relaxing. “No, but I like veggie pizza.”
“Sausage too?”
I nodded even though sausage
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