Page 64 of Dropping the Ball

Failing to fight this feeling.

Being older and wiser now doesn’t mean anything when the feeling is even stronger. When Iwantto believe that Micah can make a case for us. And I can’t stop myself from reaching for the chance.

Chapter Twenty-One

Micah

“You can prove wemake sense? How, Micah?” Kaitlyn asks.

Kaitlyn keeps her voice neutral, but I wonder if she realizes how much she gives away by trying so hard. “In building design, I research a project, brainstorm, then sketch. Next I work on schematics with floor plans and building elevations. I figure out the math and materials and physics so I know it can withstand all stressors. I present the proposal to the client. They approve, and then we begin to build something. I can break down how that’s all played out between us, but we are there, at the last stage. We’re ready to build.”

“There’s no way to predict ‘all stressors,’” she argues, “and when buildings fall, the stakes are too high.”

“Kaitlyn.” I move forward until my knee almost touches hers.

She doesn’t move away, not even when I reach out to settle my hands on her shoulders and rest my forehead against hers. “Didn’t you fall eight years ago?” When she starts to draw away, I don’t let her. “And didn’t I fall ten?” I sweep my thumbs over her cheeks, soothing her.

I watch her eyes as something behind them crumbles. Common sense, hard reality, time constraints, deadlines . . . they disappear.

She lifts her chin, and there’s no mistaking the invitation, but I move my thumb down to rest against her lips, holding her still.

“Something else, Katie.” I take a breath, and it hitches on the way out. “I need to tell you something else.”

She nips at the pad of my thumb, and my breath catches again. “Tell me.”

“It’s the real proof.”

She nips again, and I move it out of reach without letting her go. I’m barely holding it together without her teeth against my skin.

“All those things in your office? Your favorite ones? They’re mine. I made them. The space you feel is most yours in this house? I’m an important part of it.”

It makes sense. That’s what I thought, standing in her office, seeing my work in her most personal space. It makes more sense than anything has ever made to me, and there isn’t a single part of me that has the discipline to let her figure that out with time.

“You . . . the perfect curves? On the lamp and the . . . ? The woman who belongs, that was your . . .”

I nod.

A look of wonder crosses her face, and she reaches for me.

No, that’s not even close. She launches herself, and I catch her, my mouth finding hers even as I fall back on the sofa, cushioning her body with mine. She picks up where she broke off the last kiss, opening her mouth to me, inviting me in, and whatever I thought was happening in my system before is nothing compared to the detonation now.

Hunger licks through my veins as we tangle. Kaitlyn tastes more addictive than she smells, her skin is even softer than her hair, and the pads of my fingers crave more texture. I explore herplanes and contrasts the way I would one of my pieces as I learn it, the strong line of her jaw, the gentle curve of her waist. I’m drunk on the geometry of her.

I pull her tighter and she flows against me, like if she could figure out a way to melt into me, she would. But the temperature burns past that. This is incineration. I love knowing, as always, we are evenly matched. I’ve never experienced feeling so out-of-body while being so connected to it at the same time.

I reverse our positions and dip down, taking total control of the kiss, and when her hands slip from my hair down to my chest to bunch the fabric of my shirt and anchor me more tightly, I break the kiss to growl a wordless warning. I pull her hands away to pin them on either side of her head, our fingers laced, and I scrape my teeth over her earlobe, paying back the nip she gave me. She sighs and angles her head so I can pay back the second nip on her other ear.

To make the point about who is the boss in this moment, I bite harder, and—

Ow. I hiss and jerk my head up as evil strikes, meeting Kaitlyn’s startled eyes before I freeze.

“Kaitlyn.” My voice is strangled. “Daisy has her claws in my back.” Daisy. Daisy is the boss.

She rolls from under me to hit the floor on her knees, eye to extremely angry eye with Daisy Buchanan.

“Daisy,” she says, “good girl. It’s okay.”

“What? No, bad girl,” I say. “Also, help.”

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