Page 14 of Messy Match

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she called after me, which is ironic, coming from the woman who slept with her brother’s best friend literally at his wedding. But the hoots of encouragement from Libby and Maya suggested they all knew exactly what, or rather, who, was tempting me away.

My fingers trace the smooth grain of the door, hovering over the lock. The metal is cool against my overheated skin. This is such a bad idea. The worst. Except, I can’t think of anything else. I can’t focus on anything but the way Jake’s voice reverberated deep in my core when he assured me he wasn’tconsideringmy offer. And I damn well can’t forget the way his eyes bored into mine, as if he could see through every defense I’ve ever built. And was ready and willing to knock them down.

Before I change my mind, I turn the lock. The soft click echoes in the silence. But when I pull open the door, my breath catches. Jake is there, only inches away, wearing nothing but a pair of athletic shorts that hang low on his hips. His arms are raised, muscles flexing as he grips the door jamb above him. I can’t help but sweep my gaze down every inch of his perfect body. The defined lines of his shoulders flexing, the subtle movement of his chest, and the casual confidence in his stance steal what little oxygen is left in my lungs.

His eyes are dark as they return the favor, tracking a droplet of water slipping down my neck.

“I’m…popping in the shower,” I manage, my voice strangled. “I smell like chlorine.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. Not his usual cocky smirk, but again, something more dangerous. More genuine. “I’ll join you.”

My heart thuds against my ribs as he pushes off the doorframe and steps closer. Into my room. Close enough I have to tip back my head to maintain eye contact. So close the heat radiating off his skin sets mine ablaze.

“Jake—” I start, but whatever I was going to say evaporates as his hand comes up to brush my damp hair back from my temple. The gentle touch is at odds with the intensity in his gaze.

“Tell me to stop,” he warns, voice low. “Tell me this isn’t what you want, and I’ll walk away right now.”

But I don’t. This is exactly what I want. What I’ve craved for two years, even if I couldn’t—or wouldn’t—admit it. Even if I was too scared or too proud to acknowledge I was lusting after this man like a moth to a flame.

Instead of answering, I rise up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his. Unlike the desperate clash teeth and tongue on the terrace last night, this kiss starts achingly slow. His lips are soft against mine, barely moving, just tasting, testing. When I try to deepen it, tilting my head to speed up things, his hands frame my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks as he maintains the languorous pace.

“We’ve got all night,” he murmurs against my mouth. “I want to take my time with you.”

The words send a shiver down my spine. This isn’t the rushed hookup I thought it would be. This is something else entirely. Something that makes my chest tight with an emotion I’m not ready to name. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for him with a soft sound that would be embarrassing if I weren’t so lost in the sensation. He kisses me as if he’s mapping every corner of my mouth, learning what makes me gasp and what makes me melt. His hands slide into my hair as he backs me into my room, not bothering to close the door behind him.

When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, he rests his forehead against mine. But instead of pulling away, he trails his lips along my jaw then down my neck. Each press of his mouth is deliberate, as if he’s memorizing the taste of my skin. As if we have all the time in the world.

“You’re still wearing my jacket.”

“Do you want it back?”

His laugh is rough, vibrating against my skin. “Sweetheart, it looks better on you.”

The endearment that once would have made me bristle now sends heat pooling low in my belly. Maybe because, for the firsttime, I wonder if Jake’s intention isn’t to make me feel small after all. But rather, to make me feel precious.

“You have no idea how crazy it makes me seeing you in my clothes.” He presses the jacket open, and his hands slip inside to span my waist, thumbs pressing into my hip bones. “Or how much I’ve thought about this. About you.”

“Jake.” His name comes out like a plea. Suddenly, this feels like more than just getting him out of my system. More than scratching an itch that’s been burning under my skin for two years.

He must hear it in my voice. He stills, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. “We don’t have to—”

“I want to.” The words tumble out before he can finish. “I want you.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Charlotte…” His thumb traces my lower lip. “If we do this, it changes everything.”

Does it?

I wish it wasn’t true. I mean, why can’t we have screaming hot meaningless sex like single attractive twenty-somethings in the city do all the time?

Because we can’t. Everything has already changed between us, even if I’m not ready to admit it.

He stills at my hesitation, eyeing me sharply while he waits patiently for my acknowledgement. When it doesn’t come, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “We still need to talk about what happened.”

There’s no need for an explanation. He’s talking about New Year’s Eve, and we both know it. I shake my head. “Not now.”

His eyes search mine, understanding passing between us. There will be time for explanations later. For facing the events and the stubbornness that led us here. But right now, thankfully, he kisses me again. And this time, it’s with a tenderness that makes my knees weak.

His hands smooth up my sides, pushing the jacket off my shoulders to drop to the floor. Every touch feels as if he’s trying to memorize me. As if he’s been waiting for this moment as long as I have.

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