Page 23 of Our Bay Will Come

"Trusting me with your story."

Something shifts between us, a door opening just a crack. I don't know if I'm ready to walk through it, but for the first time in a long time, I want to try.

"So," I say, sliding my hand into his, "where to next?"

“Want to head back to your place?”

I smile and nod. “I thought you’d never ask.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

FOX

There's something about the way Prue Griffin moves that makes it impossible to look away, even when she's just walking across her living room carrying two glasses of wine.

"You're staring again," she says, handing me the glass, her fingers brushing mine in a way that sends electricity up my arm.

"Hard not to." I take a sip, watching her over the rim as she settles beside me on her couch, tucking those dancer's legs underneath her. The Seattle skyline glitters through her apartment windows, but it's got nothing on the way her skin catches the lamplight.

We've barely been back from dinner an hour, and already I'm counting the minutes until I can touch her again. It's been like this since we left her sister's place this morning—this constant, humming awareness between us.

"I meant what I said earlier," she says, tracing the rim of her glass with one finger. "About taking things slow."

I nod, even as every muscle in my body tightens at the memory of her beneath me just hours ago. "I know."

"It's just—" She pauses, looking down at her wine. "I don't do this, Fox. Jump in headfirst."

"Could've fooled me." I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips, and she smacks my arm lightly.

"I'm serious."

"So am I." I set my glass down, turning to face her fully. "Look, Prue, I've got no complaints about where we are right now. But I want you to know I'm not going anywhere."

She studies me for a long moment, those blue eyes searching mine for something. Whatever she finds makes her set her glass down and lean toward me.

"Show me," she whispers.

This time, there's no rush––no desperate grabbing or frantic need to consume. I take my time with her, mapping the curves of her body with my hands and my mouth. The soft sounds she makes when I kiss the inside of her wrist, the hollow of her throat, and the curve of her hip are like a language I'm desperate to become fluent in.

We eventually make it to her bedroom, leaving a trail of clothing through behind us. Her sheets are cool against my back as she straddles me, taking control in a way that makes my breath catch.

"You're beautiful," I tell her because it's true, and the words make color bloom across her cheeks in a way I can't get enough of.

Hours later, as the city lights cast shadows across her bedroom walls, she traces the scar that runs along my ribs with gentle fingers.

"You should come to Cedar Bay," I say into the comfortable silence.

She props herself up on one elbow, her hair falling around her face in a way that makes me want to run my fingers through it again. "Is that your not so subtle way of asking me to visit?"

"Nothing subtle about it. I want you there."

"Mmm." She smiles, pressing a kiss to my chest. "I could probably swing a weekend. The Henderson project is wrapping up in two weeks."

"So that's a yes?"

Instead of answering, she slides up my body until her face hovers above mine. "That's a 'convince me some more,'" she says, and then she's kissing me again, and I'm lost in her—in the feel of her skin against mine, in the scent of her perfume mixed with something more primal, in the taste of wine on her tongue.

Taking it slow has never felt so good.

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