Page 69 of The Show

When he saw me standing in the doorway, he paused mid-stride, his eyes trailing my body like he hadn’t had a drink for days, and I was a tall glass of ice water.

“Hey…”

He shifted the flowers on his arm, and with one large stride, his other snaked round my waist so he could pull me flush against him. The tiniest curl tugged at the corner of his mouth right before his lips enveloped mine. I opened up for him, sliding my tongue against his, all warm and tasting faintly of peppermint. Too briefly he pulled away, then softly returned for another quick sweep. My toes were curling against the herringbone wood floor, and there was no way my bare skin wouldn’t be scalding his fingertips.

“Hey…” His grey eyes looked almost silver, shining with happiness, maybe pride, and perhaps something else I couldn’t put my finger on.

In fact, I realized that even though I’d known Penn since I was eight years old, all this - the being close enough for his scent to imprint in my brain, the noticing how his eyes were a different color every time I saw him, and the way his bicep flexed as he brushed his fingers through his hair was as new to me as a beginning with someone I’d only just met. He’d never been here, never been in my space, and I suddenly felt very exposed.

Because if I’d never seen him, would this be the first time he was seeing me?

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he growled against my neck.

The vibrations sent ripples across my skin, but his words… it was like my synapses were on fire, zapping out sparks of pure undiluted lust at max power to ensure it reached every nook and cranny in my body.

Hestepped back and thrust the flowers at me. “These are for you.”

I took them, brushing my fingertips over the delicate petals. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

He closed the door behind him but stayed where he was in my foyer, still as a statue, only his eyes moving as he looked around the space, taking it all in with the same manner a person would in The Louvre or The Met; the candle flickering on the entrance table next to a couple of small framed photographs of my family, and the Andy Warhol of Elvis Presley my parents had gifted to me for my birthday a few years ago, which hung on the wall straight ahead of us…

“You want to come in?”

He broke from his trance with a bright smile which made my belly somersault. “I do. Lead the way.”

I managed one step in the direction of the kitchen before he called me.

“Wait.” He reached out and laced his fingers through mine. “Now we can go.”

I glanced down at our joined hands, and just like when we’d walked out of the archives, it felt like the most natural thing in the world, like we should have always been holding hands, and I couldn’t hold my own smile back with a gun to my head.

I led him through the main living area, slowly down the hallway and through to the kitchen. With each step, my brain worked overtime wondering what he was thinking; trying to view this place I’d called home for five years through new eyes. I wasn’t particularly girly; my apartment was filled with neutral, calming tones away from a chaotic life, but now I wondered if it just looked too boring and safe.

I placed the flowers on the kitchen counter and went in search of a vase big enough. Penn was walking around in silence when I returned, his broad back to me. He’d changed his shirt since this morning but was still in the jeans which sculpted his ass in a way that made my mouth water, while my brain battled against whether it should or shouldn’t be picturing him naked.

He stopped next to a series of pictures from a vacation Lauren and I took in Italy when we were eighteen. He reached out then stopped himself, his finger curling into his fist as if he thought better of it.

“You okay?”

He spun round with a sheepish smile, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. I’ve imagined being here so much, wondering what it looked like. And it’s perfect, it’s exactly how I thought it would be.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Yep.”

“You don’t think it needs more color?”

He shook his head slowly. “No, you’re all the color it needs.”

I tilted my head in surprise, and I swear there was a slight blush creeping up his neck. Penn Shepherd, this self-assured playboy who was always surrounded by people of all sexes desperately vying for his attention, was here, blushing in my apartment, with his gaze locked so tightly onto mine we could have been opposite sides of a magnet.

All of a sudden, the distance between us was too wide, the air too thick and heavy for my lungs to inhale, and he noticed.

“Lowe…” he stepped in and brushed the pad of his thumb against my cheek, cupping it as I leaned into his touch. “You’re so perfect. I don’t know what’s happened this week, how I’ve suddenly got everything I’ve ever wanted, but I’m not going to fuck it up.”

I frowned a fraction. “What do you mean?”

He swallowed thickly. “I mean, just being here with you, that’s enough for me. More than enough.”

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