Page 34 of Worthy

″I can’t imagine looking at a bunch of different parts and putting them together to make something new,” I compliment him.

″They don’t always turn out this nice,” he chuckles. “Half the stuff I throw out because it never turns into anything. But sometimes I get lucky and things fall into place.”

″Like your grandpa sculpture?” I tease, realizing too late that sculpture triggers something serious in him since his expression turns thoughtful. Somber.

″Exactly like that,” he says softly, almost distantly, except the look in his eyes is anything but distant. It’s penetrating, seeming to look inside me instead of at me. I feel self-conscious under his gaze, but not because of its intensity. Because of its uncertainty, like he doesn’t totally understand what’s happening, and doesn’t know what to do about it.

I’m helpless to do anything but return his stare. I don’t know what’s happening either. I can’t explain why I feel a connection to him, why his past doesn’t scare me, or why he seems to open up to me in a way I don’t think he does with others. So, we stand there, suspended in time, just watching each other. Waiting.

It’s too late to pretend this hasn’t turned into a moment, but I don’t know what to do about it. So, I wait, until he finally takes a step. And another. And another. Until he’s standing right in front of me, and I have to look up from my spot on the stool to see into his cloudy blue eyes.

″You know, you’re the first person to see a happy guy in those gears.” He lifts the mask off my head and sets it on the table.

″I am?” My heart is beating so loud I barely hear my own response. He’s so close, towering over me. I almost feel like prey. But the look in his eyes isn’t menacing. It’s gentle.

″You see a lot of things other people miss, don’t you?” he says, more to himself than to me.

″What do you mean?” My voice comes out raspy.

″Situations, people.” He tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “You see into them. Just don’t be fooled by what you think you see in me. It’s not real.”

″What do you think I see?” I murmur, searching his murky gaze.

″Something that isn’t there,” he says softly. “I’m not as good as you want me to be.”

″You want me to believe a man who’s honest and fun, who looks out for the people around him, including a guy he just met, is bad?” I dare him to explain away his attributes.

″A guy who’s only ever used people for sex is bad.” The words are spoken without emotion, but the look on his face is sad. Almost regretful.

″That’s not who you are.” I shake my head.

″It is,” he insists, fingering my hair again. “You just don’t want to believe that about me.”

″I believe using people for sex is something you’ve done. It doesn’t mean that’s all you are,” I say softly.

″How can you be sure? You barely know me.” He searches my eyes, looking for the lie, I think.

″I know enough,” I whisper.

″Saying shit like that about me makes me want to believe it.” He rests his forehead against mine. “It makes me want to kiss you, even though I shouldn’t.”

″I won’t stop you.” I breathe, because right now, even knowing it could backfire, there’s nothing I want more.

Cade pulls back slightly and cups my face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over my cheeks. His blue eyes are filled with a mixture of wonder and lust so powerful it steals my breath, and in this moment, I know only his lips on mine will restore it.

But the kiss doesn’t come.

Instead, he traces his thumb gently over my lower lip, back and forth, eyes locked on the gentle movement. Then he leans forward.

I close my eyes and sigh just as Cade’s lips meets mine, soft and sweet and impossibly chaste for the man known as a playboy, yet utterly perfect.

His kiss is tender, almost reverent, like this is a dream he doesn’t want to wake from, so he’s careful not to move too quickly.

″Fuck you taste good,” he mumbles against my mouth. “So sweet. So fucking soft.”

The words are dirty and endearing at the same time, and hearing them makes me gasp. Cade takes advantage, flicking his tongue against my lip to coax mine out, brushing them together in a slow dance that makes my chest literally ache from the delicacy.

His strokes are light, the barest of friction, yet this is the most fulfilling kiss I’ve ever experienced.

---