Page 13 of Cupid's Beau

The dining room feels different tonight. Maybe it’s the Valentine’s decorations casting soft shadows on the walls, or maybe it’s how Jack seems less tense after spending the afternoon in our kitchen. He sits across from me again, and I can’t help being hyperaware of his presence - the breadth of his shoulders, the way his hands dwarf the silverware, how his voice seems to resonate in my chest every time he speaks.

“More?” my mother offers, already reaching for his plate.

“Yes, please. It’s delicious,” he says. His praise is polite but genuine, making my mother beam.

I try not to stare as he takes another bite, but it’s impossible not to notice the movement of his lips, the bob of his strong throat. When he catches me looking, I quickly glance down at my plate, heat creeping up my neck.

After dinner, my father crosses to the record player. My mother’s already smiling. Something soft fills the room - one of those old jazz melodies that makes everything feel a bit magical.

When Jack stands and offers his hand, my heart actually stops.

This time when I slide my fingers into his, he draws me close - much closer than last night. His other hand settles warm and solid on my lower back, and I catch the subtle scent of his cologne mixed with something that’s just… him. Clean, masculine and intoxicating.

“You’re not terrible at this at all,” he murmurs, and I feel hisvoice rumble through his chest where we’re pressed together.

“Maybe I was exaggerating a bit last night.” I rest my hand on his shoulder, feeling the play of muscles under his sweater.

He chuckles softly, and the sound does ridiculous things to my insides.

I glance up to find him already looking down at me, his blue eyes, dark in the dim light.

I avert my gaze, trying to regain some control, and realize we’re alone. When did my parents slip out? I didn’t even notice.

“Your hands are calloused,” I say without thinking, my fingers brushing against his.

“I sculpt. When I’m not making movies or moonlighting as an assistant decorator.”

I laugh. “Is there anything you can’t do, Mr. Ellis?”

“Plenty.” His thumb traces small circles on my back. Probably unintentionally? Probably.

We’re barely moving now, just swaying together in the soft light. His scent surrounds me, and when he dips his head slightly, I feel his nose brush against my hair.

“Neneh,” he breathes, and something about the way he says my name makes me shiver.

I tilt my face up at the same moment he looks down, and suddenly we’re breathing the same air. His hand slides from my back to my waist, pulling me impossibly closer. Everything narrows to this moment - the warmth of his palm through mysweater, the slight roughness of his calloused fingers linked with mine, the way his eyes drop to my lips.

When he kisses me, it’s achingly delicious. Just the softest brush of his mouth against mine, like he’s asking a question.

I answer by curling my fingers into his sweater, rising on my toes to press closer. His hand releases mine to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheek as he deepens the kiss. Everything about him is overwhelming - the taste of him, the solid warmth of his body against mine, the small sound he makes when I part my lips.

And Jack Ellis kisses like he does everything else - with a focused intensity that makes me forget how to think. His fingers thread through my hair, tilting my head for better access, and I melt against him.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. He rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed like he’s trying to gather himself.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he murmurs, but his hands are still holding me close. Tight.

“Why not?” I whisper.

He opens his eyes, and the heat in them makes my knees weak. “Because now I want to do it again.”

“I don’t see the problem.” I trace my fingers along his jaw, feeling the scratch of his beard.

This time when he kisses me, there’s nothing gentle about it. His mouth claims mine with a hunger that steals my breath, and I respond in kind, running my hands up his chest to his shoulders.

He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down my neck, and I gasp when he finds a particularly sensitive spot. His hands tighten on my waist.

“We should stop,” he rumbles against my skin, but makes no move to pull away.

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