Page 89 of Sounds Like Love

“She’s in the green dress,”his thoughts whispered against mine.“Why is she so flushed? She looks so good.”And there were bits of other things,the way he wanted to slip his fingers beneath the shoulder straps, how he wanted to unzip me with his teeth—

Which just made me flush more.

His voice, on the other hand, was purposefully neutral. “Where’s your date?”

“Home, probably.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, but thought,“How badly did he fuck up?”

He didn’t, I replied. “I realized it wasn’t going to work out.”

“Ah.” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe.“Why are you here, bird?”

I started up the steps, my heart in my throat, butterflies so vicious in my stomach. “I heard you …” I began, one foot in front of the other.

He watched, silent.

When Van touched me.Another step.

Sasha’s mind was empty. But his dark eyes were drinking me in. From the curve of my breasts in this dress, to the slope of my neck, to the bow of my lips. I didn’t need to hear his mind to know what was in it.

“And I realized … I wanted to be on that date with you.”

He inclined his head a fraction. “That sounds like it could be messy.”

“I know.”

“And complicated.”

I nodded. Held his gaze. “Yes.”

“And terrifying.”His gaze, hot and tense, fell to my lips.

I shook my head. “No. Not terrifying. Not with you.” With one last step, I reached the top. “I think—I think Iwantsomething messy and complicated with you, Sasha. I think I want that very much.”

And I wanted so much more. I wanted to fold his fingers through mine, and I wanted to tear out the space between us, and I wanted to lose myself in the color of his eyes. I wanted to spend more afternoons at the Marge with him, and I wanted to spend nights at the Revelry, and I wanted—

I wantedso much.

“Do you?” I asked, hopeful.

He closed the distance between us, languid and graceful. It was so intoxicating, watching him move through the world, like he belonged in it just the way he was. He pushed my hair back behind my ears and cradled my face. “More than anything, bird.”

Then he bent down as I reached up on my toes, and we met with a kiss in the middle.

When our thoughts collided, it was different this time. It felt like fireworks. The moment our mouths touched, I felt his want just as sure as he did mine. I saw myself in his emotions, his jealousy of Van, his ache for another kiss every time he looked at my mouth, his satisfaction as he raked his fingers through my hair. And he saw the way I wanted him to kiss me so hard I forgot my name, the way I wanted to curl my fingers through his loose hair, the way I wanted to write my entire discography about the color of his eyes.

He picked me up as I wrapped my legs around his middle, and he carried me up and into the beach house. He closed the door and set me down on the sideboard in the foyer. His hands slipped from my hair, fingers trailing down my back, and found purchase against my hips.

“I’d been thinking about this since the first time,” he said, kissing the side of my neck. His tongue tasted my skin there, his teeth skimmed across it. His head was full of how I tasted and how good I smelled—like rose water and sea salt ice cream.“You’re addicting, like candy.”

“I wish you’d told me,” I said, trying to speak coherent sentences when my brain just wanted to be putty.You taste like coffee.

“I want to devour you.”

I want you to.

He grunted in agreement and brushed his hair out of his face. I liked it down. He grinned at that. “Not a fan of man buns?”

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