Page 154 of Accidentally Under Your Tree

"Me either."

His room was just like mine. A hallway from the door to an open space with a king-sized bed, a television mounted next to a large mirror. A sunny lake scene hung above his headrest—mine was an abstract print of flowers, but otherwise everything was the same. His brown leather coat draped over the chair in the corner next to his suitcase unzipped on the floor.

I set my little bag on the table under the mirror. It suddenly seemed presumptuous to bring it. Turning, I crossed my arms over my chest. "I was scared that I remembered your room number wrong."

Throwing his head back, he laughed at the ceiling. The sound was so full, and it pulled the corners of my lips. I leaned back against the table, gripping the edge of it in both hands, resisting the urge to hug him.

Why is he so magnetic?

"You got it right." The corners of his eyes crinkled, and I swam in their mossy green depths.

"It's not creepy I'm here?"

He shook his head. His smile stilled and slipped slightly. He took a small step closer. Tilting his head in silent question, he tucked his hands into his pockets. The fabric around his biceps stretched.

A blush warmed his cheeks.

My God, this man is too much.

"I could not be happier that you're in my room," he admitted.

A fleet of butterflies took flight in my gut, and I lost a brief battle with my face. I couldn't remember the last time I'd smiled that big. It felt like a warm summer breeze off the lakes back home. It felt like zooming down a hill on my bike with my hands off the handlebars. It felt like fireworks exploding across a navy sky.

I sank into the feeling. Empowered by it, I gripped his wrist, tugging him closer. He followed my urging. The hairs on my arms stood on end, anticipating another one of his all-consuming kisses. My legs ached to wrap around his waist. I eyed the hem of his shirt hanging loosely around his hips. Could I snake my fingers up and across his stomach?

One look at the lust in his hypnotizing eyes confirmed a resounding yes.

It didn't seem to matter what question my body asked his. The answer was yes. More.

"Why is it like this with you?" I whispered, hyper aware of the inches separating us. Barely room enough for words. The space filled with heat off his body, and the scent of his soap and minty toothpaste on his breath.

"I don't know. But I want it."

I took hold of the back of his neck and pulled his mouth to meet mine. Against my fingertips, the pulse in his wrist jumped.

The gates opened. The dam broke. I was flooded.

My heart thundered. Electricity sparked like lightning across my scalp and down my spine. There was no reason for restraint, and I gave in. All my impulses were safe. He confirmed it with the groan at the back of his throat, the hands that cupped my thighs placing me on the table, the scrape of his teeth along my jaw.

I hooked my ankles behind his back, the rock of my hips instinctual against the bulge behind his zipper. Impatience braided with desire in my veins. It was interminable. We'd just started—we'd just met—and already this was taking too long. He tasted too good. His fingers digging into my thighs, encouraging my movements was almost everything I wanted. His back flexed under my palms.

His tongue slid against mine. We both moaned as I sucked his lip. For a moment, we paused, staring into each other's eyes. I nodded, certain I saw a question there.

"I want all of this," I whispered.

"Tell me to stop if you change your mind." The words rushed from him as he closed the distance between our mouths again.

The hand at my thigh pressed higher, taking hold of my ass through my sensible slacks. It wasn't enough contact. The fabric was too thick, especially with his worn jeans dividing us as well. Reaching between us, I struggled with the button at the top of the denim.

He didn't relent. His lips continued down my throat. He tugged the neck of my sweater out of the way, revealing the white lace of my bra.

"You're all buttoned up, Lizzy." He licked and nibbled at the exposed curve of my breast. "It drives me fucking wild."

I tossed my head back, and he cupped my tits—his big hands overfilled with what I offered.

"Take off your pants," I commanded.

He glared down at the rise and fall of my cleavage against his fingertips before he took a step back. My clit throbbed, pleaded at the outline of his erection. I had to push my thighs together as he rubbed the heel of his hand up and down his length once.

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