Page 64 of Truly, Madly, Deeply

Chapter Eleven

“—and it was a great book, don’t get me wrong, but now I can’t step foot in an Ikea without being consumed by the thought that some seriously shady shit probably goes down after dark, you know? Closed big-box stores are, like, the mother of all liminal spaces. At the very least, unauthorized employee sleepovers must be happening. I mean, all those beds? And honestly? Why haven’t they turned Ikea into a hostel? Or housing for those who need it? The beds just sit empty night after night and—”

Colin’s fingers circled her wrist, grip gentle but firm. “Truly?”

She stopped walking, only a few steps shy of the vine-covered gate that kept her building mostly obscured from the street. She held her breath, pulse racing beneath his fingers. “Hm?”

“I’m not making you nervous, am I?”

Nervous? Her? Ha.

Yes.

The thumb resting over her pulse smoothed over her skin and she shivered, gulping quietly. “Why would I be nervous?”

“Maybe because you haven’t stopped talking since we started walking?” The corner of his mouth curled up. “Not that I didn’t find your take on the secret evil goings-on inside Ikea fascinating.”

“Well, I’m not.” Her heart sped and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he could feel it, thumb pressed to her pulse like a human lie detector. “I’m fine. I’m—I’m peachy.”

“You’re peachy,” he said, hand finally dropping to his side. It took an inordinate amount of self-control to not reach out and grab his hand, smack his open palm against her wrist like a slap band, and tell him not to let go. “So, you’re not avoiding talking about what you said back at the bar?”

Her shoulders sagged. Was she that obvious? Or was Colin just that skilled at reading her?

She rubbed her wrist, her fingers a poor substitute for his. “We can talk about it. If you want. I’m just—” Terrified because this didn’t feel like much of a baby step anymore. But she didn’t want to take one step forward only to take two back. She wrapped her fingers between the rusted iron bars of the gate and pulled. “I don’t know where to start.”

Colin followed her into the dimly lit courtyard where weeds sprouted between cracks in the pavement and sweet-smelling clematis climbed the trellis outside her window. Her apartment complex was small—a single-story building comprised of six units, each with its own separate entrance off the shared courtyard, like town houses. A rarity on a street dominated by buildings five, six stories tall.

“We could get straight to the part where you confessed to wanting to work up a non-platonic sweat with me.”

She fumbled her keys.

“Or we could talk about flowers.”

The weak amber bulb above her door flickered as she shoved her key in the lock and turned, facing Colin. “I like amaryllis and camellias. Cornflowers and dahlias. Dogwood and edelweiss. Hawthorn and lily of the valley are nice, too.”

“You’re killing me,” Colin croaked. “You know that?”

She slumped back against her door. “I’m killing you?” She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes until starbursts appeared behind her lids. “Flowers? Really, McCrory? You think I actually want to talk about—”

She pitched forward with a gasp, words dying on her lips as Colin yanked her against his chest, trapping her hand between them.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

His fingers abandoned their hold on her wrist to tuck her hair behind her ear. The rasp of his fingertips against the soft, vulnerable skin of her throat made her dizzy. “Not talking about flowers.”

His mouth came crashing down on hers, swallowing her gasp, capturing her lips in a kiss.

And dear God, what a kiss.

He tasted citrusy sweet and just a little tart, like the slice of orange that had come with his beer. She surged forward, rising on her toes, chasing the flavor, knees all but buckling when he nipped at her bottom lip, his tongue soothing the sting.

“Jesus, you taste like cherries.” He mouthed at her throat, teeth scraping the juncture of where her jaw met her neck. “You know that, Truly?”

Her name sounded like a benediction, whispered against her skin. All she could do was pant.

His thumb traced the swell of her bottom lip, smearing what little was left of her lip gloss. “You drive me so fucking crazy, I—” He broke off with a chuckle, hiding his face against her shoulder. “Fuck. I can’t say it.”

“It’s a little late to be getting shy on me.” Hand still splayed against his chest, she let her fingers drift, finding and tweaking his nipple. Colin swore under his breath and something hot blossomed inside her when he jerked. “Tell me.”

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