Page 55 of The Match

I slowly move closer, making him smile. “Why are you so afraid of me tonight?”

“I’m not,” I croak. But I am. I totally am.

My nerves are sizzling because I don’t know what to expect from the night, or what he expects. We are two adults on a first real date, and let’s face it, there’s been a lot of tension building up between us lately, and I just don’t know what he’s thinking is going to happen tonight. What do I want to happen?

When I get within arm’s reach, he slips his hand around to my lower back and pulls me closer. My hips land against his, and he grins playfully. “Fell right into my trap,” he whispers in my ear.

I like being trapped with him.

He smells so good tonight—like he used a bodywash with descriptive words on the bottle like mountain or rain. Somehow, the scent acts like a truth serum, because when he asks me to tell him what’s going on in my head, I do.

“I’m nervous.” I look up and meet his tender blue eyes.

“Me too.”

“Really?” Somehow, that surprises me because he seems so put together and sure of himself. He always seems that way. Like a sturdy tree that’s been there for hundreds of years. You know that if a strong wind blows, it won’t knock it over.

“I changed my outfit three times,” he admits with a cute, guilty look.

I grin and relax a little more into him. “You didn’t.”

“I did.” His voice is warm and rich.

Something changes between us, and I can feel the moment we both realize that we are completely alone in this house and no one will burst in and interrupt a kiss this time. Chills fly across my skin as Jake brushes my hair away from my face and neck and then leans down. But he doesn’t kiss my mouth. No, that would be way too obvious a choice for him. Instead, Jake passes right by my lips and goes to my neck, placing a light, lingering kiss right below my jaw. His lips melt against my skin, and his scruff tickles my neck where he’s placing slow, hot kisses.

I tip my head back to give him a better vantage point. His kisses are lazily moving up toward my mouth, and as much as I’m loving this slow torture, I hear a bubbling sound on the stove. “I think something is boiling, Jake.”

“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs against my cheek.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s fine.” He’s in a sexy haze again.

“Are you sure? Because—” I don’t get to finish my thought.

Jake’s lips take mine, and all thoughts of dinner are behind me. In fact, I don’t think I ever need to eat again. I’ll just stay here and keep kissing Jake for the rest of my life, and I’m pretty sure that will be enough to sustain me.

He presses me back into the counter, and together, our kiss feels like a deep exhalation. Like life has turned fuzzy around the edges and nothing else matters anymore. Except, he’s too tall. I hook my arm around his neck to pull him down to me, but Jake responds to my dilemma by picking me up and setting me on the counter in front of him. He stands between my legs.

My greedy little fingers run all over the tight ridges and valleys of Jake’s shoulders. I’m making a mental map of his body, unable to believe that I’m even allowed to touch this work of art. He should be boxed up and sent off to a museum where he can be adequately appreciated. I lace my fingers in the back of his hair and breathe in his clean scent. Jake’s lips move, both soft and fierce like the tides of the ocean, and I fall into them and swim.

I can hear something on the stove bubbling into a frenzy. It perfectly mirrors our kiss. I wind my arms tightly around his neck. You’re not going anywhere. He takes a handful of my dress and tugs me closer. I slide my tongue against his lips, and just like a three-Michelin-star chef, I’m able to taste the notes of everything he’s been cooking.

Viciously possessive thoughts run through my mind. He’s mine. Only mine.

And now I’m kissing him with the intent to brand him. I want everyone to be able to look at Jake and see my kiss planted across his lips. Maybe Jake can read my thoughts because suddenly he’s slowing things down. That delicious bite of his hand is lightening up, and I can tell he’s putting on the brakes.

He slowly pulls away, and I can’t open my eyes. They are too heavy and lust-filled to function properly yet. He cups my jaw—thumb tenderly caressing my cheek.

“I still think slow is a good idea, Evie. Even if I’m struggling with it.” The way he says it, though—with a low, raspy voice—knots my breath and instantly makes me wish we were still kissing.

But with my eyes shut, I nod my head in agreement because I am in agreement. He’s been through a heck of a lot over the last year, and I respect him immensely for trying to protect himself emotionally. And if sex tangles him up too much too soon, I don’t want to press it. Honestly, I feel the same way. My heart gets attached way too quickly when physical stuff gets involved. And if he’s not sure about us yet—I don’t want to make that leap.

Lucky for me, kissing him is a top-tier experience in itself.

I open my eyes and find Jake giving me a lopsided grin. He knows the effect he’s just had on me, and he likes it.

“Slow,” I repeat back to him like English is not my first language and I’m trying to commit this new foreign word to memory.

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