Page 95 of The Thought of You

Owen locks it, and with the echo of the click drifting over us, he covers my mouth with his. “We’ve been here for all of thirteen minutes, and I haven’t gotten to kiss you. It should be a crime,” he mutters between kisses as his fingers skate up my arms.

As he buries his hands in my hair and pulls on the strands, he kisses me harder, stealing my breath with each swipe of his tongue.

He hardens against me.

And right as I trace the buckle of his belt with my fingertip, fully prepared to yank it off, he lunges backward. “I can’t. Not here.” He swipes at his mouth. “Too many people out there.”

I hold my hands up as if to show him I’m unarmed. “You’re right. That would be reckless.” I nod as the noises of reality quickly filter back into my foggy brain. A slow song begins, the melody soft and barely audible in here. The voice is loud enough, though, and as Owen and I face each other from two feet apart, it feels like the singer is serenading us. “What should we do then?” I whisper.

“If we were out there, I’d dance with you.” Owen removes the distance between us with a single stride and sweeps me into his arms, one around my waist and the other tugging on my hand. “I’ve always wanted to dance with the prettiest girl in the room.”

I fight a smile. “I’d be a lot more flattered if I had more than a toilet to compare myself to.”

He nuzzles his nose into my neck.

And as we dance next to said toilet, it’s the most fun I’ve ever had at a karaoke night at the Tap.

“So, tramps, huh?” I feel his smile spread against my shoulder, where my sleeve has drifted over it.

“Not the best word choice for those women you were talking to.” I wince, thankful he can’t see me or any insecurities written on my face. “I’m sure they were perfectly pleasant women.”

His chuckle washes over me with warmth. “If you must know, they were my sisters’ friends. They just wanted to tell me how much they enjoyed Lottie’s brunch yesterday and how good it was to see Whitney, who ended up attending too.”

“Oh. I’m sure that’s all they wanted.” I roll my eyes.

“Are you jealous?” He pulls back a fraction to peer into my eyes.

My mouth flounders open and closed. “I don’t get jealous, especially not over hot young things with skintight clothes and heels.”

“But if you were jealous, I’d say…” He dips his head until his lips reach my burning ears. “I like it.”

Lust fogs my brain again, rolling in to distract me from seeing clearly. “I, um…” I lick my lips. “Of course, you like it,” I croak. Then I shake myself out of the trance and add, “Your ego can’t survive without a continuous stroke of compliments.”

“That’s not it at all.” His sober expression reaches deep inside my chest as he says, “I just know jealousy means you care. It means you want me, and I like the idea of you claiming me. Because, angel…”

“Hmm?” My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I hang on to his next word.

A knock on the door breaks us apart.

“What were you going to say?” I urge.

A smile appears on his face, but it’s not one I’ve seen before. It’s almost shy. That can’t be right. Owen Conrad is never shy.

Another knock sounds.

He gives me one more kiss that leaves my head spinning and rasps, “To be continued.”

“I’ve never been a fan of cliffhangers in books, and they’re even worse in real life.”

“Real life awaits, baby.”

I blow out a frustrated breath, glance toward the door, then back at Owen. “I’ll distract them while you sneak out behind me.”

I inch the door open, and through the sliver, I find Iris’s niece on the other side. “Hey, Cheyenne!” I slip into the hall and loop my arm through hers. “I’ve been meaning to call you about the messages I’ve gotten about the dance costumes. I’m sure you’ve gotten them too.”

“Oh, tons of messages.” She squeezes my hand. “Aunt Iris had to start taking medication for her high blood pressure, and I’m not sure it wasn’t because of the dance moms—God bless them.”

As I lead her away from the bathroom, I glance over my shoulder and catch Owen peeking through the sliver of the cracked door, his eyes locked on mine.

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