Page 47 of Burn With Me

Ameila

Going through my nighttime routine, I feel the anxiety coursing through my veins.

Why am I so nervous? Ugh! This is stupid.

I’ve been looking in the mirror for two minutes now and can’t force myself to move, even though I have no real reason to be in here anymore.

It’s been five years since I’ve had sex.

I wonder if Pam is too drunk to answer a text . . .

Regardless of my nerves, I know that I want this, and more than that, I want it with Luke. He makes me feel more than I have in a long time. He supports me and hasn’t pushed for anything . . .

Okay, he pushed for that first date, but he seems to be understanding that I own a business and that it’s important to me.

He’s also interested in what my business is. Maybe he’s just acting like that so he can get laid.

I shake that thought from my head as I take a breath and place my hands on the counter with my head down.

Penny nudges my leg, and I give her a pet. “Do you need to go outside one more time, my perfect princess?”

“I just let her in,” I hear from behind me, and I jump.

“Jesus, Luke! You scared the shit out of me,” I say and turn my head to look at him, and my breath catches.

If I thought he was good looking with a shirt on, Luke without a shirt is downright gorgeous.

His body is sculpted, but not like he spends hours at the gym bodybuilding. No, his muscles are from his job. The tattoo on his back peeks over his shoulder and snakes down his bicep, and I’ve never wanted to lick something so bad in my life.

I’m pretty sure I’m drooling a little as I continue to check out his body.

A chuckle brings my eyes to his.

Busted.

The smirk on his perfect lips makes him even more attractive.

“You like what you see, sweetness?” he says with laughter in his voice.

I roll my eyes. “You know I do.”

He leans on the doorframe and crosses his arms across his broad chest, and his expression turns serious. “Nothing has to happen that you aren’t comfortable with, Amelia. I can sleep on the couch. I’ll never do anything that you don’t want to do.”

How does he always seem to know exactly what I’m thinking . . .

I turn to face him. “I’m just nervous . . . It’s been a long time, and I really like you.”

He stands up straight, and his eyes feel like they are staring into my soul as he walks toward me. “I really like you too, sweetness, and I want you to know you run this show. If all you want to do is sleep, just say the word.”

Why does he have to always say the most perfect things?

He means it too.

If I said I wasn’t ready, he would respect that.

“I want this, I promise.”

That’s all the permission he needs because he walks me backward until I’m against the counter, and I don’t know who moves first, but our lips meet, and my anxiety melts into desire. A moan escapes me when he nips my bottom lip, and he takes advantage, pushing his tongue in and deepening the kiss.

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