Page 60 of Across the Boards

“And yet here we are.” His smile is slow, confident. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. “You invited me in for not-coffee. Which we’re not having.”

“The night’s still young.” I attempt a casual tone that absolutely fails to materialize. Instead, my voice comes out slightly breathless.

“Is it?”

Brody is looking at me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes it hard to remember all the reasons why this is a terrible idea. He’s too young. He’s a hockey player. I’ve been down this road before and the crash was spectacular.

But then he raises his hand to my face again, fingers gentle against my skin, and those reasons are all suddenly very far away.

“Elliot,” he says softly. “I’m going to kiss you now. Unless you tell me not to.”

The moment stretches between us, possibility hanging in the balance. I should tell him no. I should take a step back. I should remember that I’m too old and too cynical for this kind of breathless anticipation.

Instead, I find myself nodding almost imperceptibly.

His smile is brief, victorious, before he leans down, closing the distance between us. The first brush of his lips against mine is gentle, tentative, a question rather than a demand. I answer by sliding my hands up his chest to curl around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

Something shifts then, the kiss deepening into something hungry and urgent. His arms wrap around my waist, lifting me slightly to better align our bodies. I make a small, embarrassing sound in the back of my throat that seems to spur him on, one hand sliding up to tangle in my hair.

The world narrows to this moment, to the feel of his body against mine, the taste of him—champagne and chocolate from the dessert we shared at the gala. It’s been so long since I’ve been kissed like this, like I’m something precious and necessary. Like I’m the air he needs to breathe.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, his forehead resting against mine.

“Wow,” he says, voice rough. “That was…”

“Adequate?” I suggest, unable to help myself.

He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest against mine. “I was going to say ‘mind-blowing,’ but sure, ‘adequate’ works too.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He pulls back slightly to look at me, eyes dancing with amusement. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I prefer ‘challenging.’”

“Of course you do.” His thumb traces my lower lip, making me shiver. “Challenging. Maddening. Brilliant.” Each word is punctuated with a soft kiss. “Beautiful.”

“Now you’re just showing off your vocabulary,” I murmur against his lips.

“Is it working?”

“Maybe.”

He grins, pulling me closer again. “I’ll take maybe.”

This time when he kisses me, it’s slower, deeper, the kind of kiss that makes you forget everything except the person in front of you. His hands are everywhere—in my hair, skimming down my back, curving around my hips—each touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

I should be embarrassed by how eagerly I respond, by the way my body arches into his touch like a cat seeking warmth. But there’s something liberating about letting go after so long holding myself in rigid control. About giving in to the simple, physical pleasure of being wanted.

The distant, still-rational part of my brain notes that Brody Carter is alarmingly good at this. Of course he is—he’s a professional athlete with the physical discipline and stamina that comes with intensive training. He’s probably had more practice than I care to contemplate. But the rest of me doesn’t care about the scoreboard, only the game being played here and now.

I’m not sure how we end up on my couch, but suddenly we’re there, my dress hiked up indecently around my thighs, Brody’s bow tie completely undone and hanging loose around his neck. He’s half on top of me, one hand braced beside my head, the other tracing maddening patterns up my leg.

“We should slow down,” I gasp as his lips find the sensitive spot just below my ear.

“We absolutely should,” he agrees, making no move to stop. “Any minute now.”

His mouth trails down my neck, and I tilt my head to give him better access, my hands running along the strong planes of his back. The weight of him pressing me into the cushions is intoxicating—solid and warm and real.

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