Page 14 of Love In Translation

God, he’d met her an hour ago. Why the fuck were these thoughts even running through his head?

Knowing he was on the brink of stripping her and using that big bed, Fletch dialed his passion down, and peppered her jaw with small kisses, before placing his lips on her temple and keeping it there while he waited for blood to reach his brain.

In high-stakes environments, whether it was the Okavongo Swamps of Botswana or pulling a sled across marrow-freezing windswept Antarctica, good decision-making was the difference between life and death. Standing with a sexy woman in his arms wasn’t a life-or-death situation, but the rule of making good choices still applied. Sleeping with his new roommate just an hour after meeting her was not, in any scenario, a wise decision.

Not only was she going to be living here and sharing his space for a couple of weeks, but she was also Carrie’s cousin, and he didn’t want to risk complicating his relationship with a good friend just to get his rocks off.

And, as a few hard expeditions had taught him, when the terrain was too easy and life was too good, that’s when he had to pull back and reevaluate. Life had a way of becoming a shit show very quickly.

Pulling away from her took more willpower than it did to pitch his tent in a howling minus-sixty-degree blizzard, but Fletch managed to do it. The sound of their ragged breathing filled the room, and Fletch, who’d hacked his way through impenetrable jungles and survived crazy ice storms, reluctantly admitted he’d never experienced emotional disorientation to this degree.

He’d only just met her, but there was still the lingering worry that if Rheo gave him the smallest hint she wanted to dive back in for more, he’d have her naked so fast her head would spin.

Rheo, thank God, slowly backed away, those extraordinary eyes wider than before. She closed them, shook her head, and ran her fingers across her forehead—was that something she did when she felt off-balance?—and winced when she touched her graze.

She met his eyes and bit her lip. “Well, that was...”

He waited for her to finish her sentence, trying to fill in the blanks. Hot? Unexpected?

“Um...shit.”

Did “shit” after a hot kiss mean she was pissed? Could he have read her wrong?

Fuck, he never second-guessed himself, and he’d never,everspent this much time self-analyzing or fixating over what was nothing more than a hot grope and a deep kiss.

Maybe he needed rest and relaxation, and to slow down, more than he thought. It could be that Seb was right.

He could think about that later; right now he needed to make sure Rheo was okay. He hoped she knew he’d never ask for more than she could give. If she had any doubts about him, those needed to be alleviated right damn now. If she wanted to forget about the kiss, they could do that. If she wanted a reset, that was okay too. If she wanted him to leave, he’d be pissed, but he’d pick up his duffel and keys and drive away.

But he’d leave her to explain to her grandmother why his rent wasn’t reflecting in her bank account.

He wasn’t a complete bastard, but neither was he a saint.

“I—”

Rheo held up her hand, her cheeks red. Why was she blushing? “I’m so sorry if I took our kiss further than you meant to go,” she said, her tone measured. “Please forget it happened.”

What. The. Crap?

Fletch couldn’t make sense of her words, but before he could respond, she walked out of the room.

He stroked his jaw, shook his head, and closed his eyes.Well, hell.

It was obvious her mind worked faster than his, and she’d beaten him in the race to see who spoke first. He’d needed more time to boot up his brain, to unfreeze his tongue and rewire his shorted-out circuits.

But unlike him, she’d jumped to conclusions quite quickly. Why was she taking all the responsibility for their out-of-control kiss? It had been a two-way street, both giving, both taking, bothfeasting.

Fletch scrubbed his face with his open palms, linked his fingers behind his neck and tipped his head back to look at the ceiling.Well, fuck.

Her effect on him wasn’t good.

But their kiss had been absolutely fan-fucking-tastic.

Four

Rheo fast-walked to the stairs, bolted down them, and ran into the kitchen and out the back door. She stumbled onto the path bisecting two beds of sweet-smelling herbs, lavender, rosemary, and lemon verbena. She only knew their names because she’d looked them up.

Stopping at the small paved area halfway down the garden, she placed a hand on one of the four pillars of the wooden gazebo. She’d built the structure a few weeks back, following a YouTube tutorial. Paddy often talked of having one, so Rheo had fought boredom, impatience, and frustration to build her one in the hope it would mollify her grandmother when Rheo fell from grace. She had also bought four concrete pots and planned to plant a gorgeous creeper in each of them—the one with the purple flowers?—so Paddy could sit in the shade on hot summer days.

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