Page 98 of The Thought of You

She moans in my mouth, and my mind drifts into dangerous territory, filling itself with filthy images of spreading her across the porch steps and having my way with her. My neighbors are far enough away, given my house sits on fifteen acres. There’d be no witnesses other than the fireflies and fish in the creek cutting through my property.

But a burst of laughter from inside rattles my brain and reminds me we are not actually alone right now.

“Come on,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

She slips her hand into mine and squeezes, but our connection breaks when she starts toward her car, and I walk toward my house. “What are you doing?” she asks.

I take her hand in mine again and nudge her back down the pathway toward the porch. “You’re joining us for dinner. Knowing you, there’s zero chance you’ve eaten tonight.”

“I mean, you’re right, but I can’t come inside!” She digs her heels into the cement path, but she’s no match for my strength—or determination. “Unhand me right this second!”

“I’ve already met your mom, and now, I’m returning the gesture.”

“That was an accident,” she argues. “Trust me, if she hadn’t shown up to the chili dinner, you wouldn’t have met her for a very long time, if ever.”

“We’re having lasagna tonight. You like lasagna, right? And breadsticks. They’re the garlic kind.” My mouth salivates, and my stomach growls as I bring her along. “Then we’ll play some Jenga, and after everyone leaves, you’ll show me this elusive lingerie.”

“You’re out of your freaking mind,” she whisper-screams as I drag her up the steps. “I’m not going in there to meet your whole family. That’s insane!”

“What would be insane is allowing you to drive all the way out here and letting you leave with an empty stomach.” I pause with my foot on the last step. “Letting you leave unsatisfied would be a terrible disservice.”

“You’re off the hook. I don’t need to be satisfied in any sense.” She attempts to free her delicate hand from my wolfish grip yet again, but it’s no use.

“Then why did you come here?”

“To get my fill of the countryside,” she deadpans.

It makes me chuckle, and her gaze follows the rise and fall of my chest before I spin back around, my hand still holding onto hers as I tug her the rest of the way toward the door.

“Owen Sylvester Conrad!” she bursts.

My laugh tears out of me with gusto, and the echo scares the birds from the trees in my front yard. “My middle name is not Sylvester.” I pause again right next to the door—so fucking close.

With my guard down, she yanks her hand free. “Well, I don’t know what it is.”

“And your best guess is Sylvester?”

“You look like a Sylvester.” A small smile dances on her lips.

“What are you afraid of, angel?”

“A lot of things—spiders, seaweed touching my leg in the ocean, and my woven blankets unraveling. Oh, and right now, I’m afraid of how totally casual you are about introducing me to your entire family.” She folds her arms over her chest and shrinks. “It’s very serious, and you don’t seem to realize that.”

“I do realize it.”

“And you don’t care?”

“I do care. As a matter of fact, I care a lot. It’s why I want to hold your hand, walk inside, and eat together with my family.”

“What happened to keeping us a secret?”

“My family doesn’t count.”

“They are people with eyes and ears—they freaking count.”

With a sigh, I twist the knob and head inside, leaving the door open for her to make a choice. I’ve said my piece, and the rest is up to her.

“Where are you going?” Her voice carries down the narrow entryway and over me.

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