Page 17 of Til Divorce Do Us Start

She keeps giggling. She follows me and I don’t question it. I want to keep her laughing so she can’t insult me. I’d rather enjoy this. So I keep up the game with her until she starts being a problem.

“Noelle, stop throwing pasta at the wall,” I say, trying not to sound completely exasperated.

She grins, a noodle dangling from her fingers. “It’s how I test if it’s done! If it sticks, it’s ready—basic science.”

“Nope,” I say, stepping toward her. “You’ve officially lost hand privileges.”

Before she can react, I catch her wrists and gently pull her arms behind her back, holding them there.

She squeals and half-wrestles with me, laughing and teasing me and the pasta, no venom. “You just can’t handle my throwing skills!”

“You clearly can’t handle my restraining skills,” I tease.

“Oh, I can handle them plenty!” She squats down, then turns, twisting my arms around so we’re holding hands and just staring at each other with my arms crossed. I lift our joined hands, wrap them around her back, and pull her flush against me. She gasps, eyes wide. “No fair!”

“You said you could handle it, now you have to prove it.”

“I could play dirty,” she says, eyes narrowed playfully as her knee rubs my thigh. “I could just move my knee a little and ...”

“And here I thought that was the best part of me,” I tease.

“Well after ten years, how can a girl be sure?”

I almost ask her if she wants to double check, but the pot boils over. She just keeps staring at me, like she’s not aware of it. I lift her and spin her around, making her gasp. “Colin! No picking up without permission!”

I turn the stove down. “And you let the pot boil over!”

“The noodles will be fine. We’ll still have spaghetti. You and your worrying.”

“Did it occur to you that I wasn’t worried about the pasta, and worried about you getting burnt? How the hell did you survive on your own?” I demand.

“Why are you yelling!” She snaps.

I turn to face her and grab a handful of her hair right at the nape of her neck. Her eyes widen, then she shoves at me. “You touching me isn’t going to make me be nicer. Haven’t you-”

“Stop looking so damn hot when you argue with me,” I growl.

And then I kiss her—hard, claiming, silencing every word on her lips with mine.

I feel her lashes brush my cheek as she tries to figure out what I’m doing. I don’t have any idea either. I just can’t imagine letting her go. I part her lips with mine and kiss her deeper. I expect her to push me away, but instead, she melts against my chest. Noelle’s tongue slowly strokes across mine, igniting the need I’ve been trying to repress.

Groaning, I let my hand slide down her back, pulling her tighter against me. She fists my shirt, dragging me closer, deepening the kiss until there’s nothing but heat between us. Her soft whimper against my mouth shatters whatever thread of restraint I had left—because she’s not just letting me have her, she’sgivingherself to me, meeting me beat for beat.

Noelle pushes up onto her toes, trying to climb me, legs hitching around my hips like she’s starving for contact. I shift, bracing one arm around her waist and walking us backward until she’s pressed against the counter. With one firm movement, I slide between her legs, gripping her thighs to anchor her there.

She kisses me again—harder, deeper, like she’s trying to burn every grudge between us to ash. I nip at her bottom lip, then grab both her wrists and pin them to the edge of the counter on either side of her. She pants. “Dinner?”

“You taste better,” I growl, pulling her back to me.

I can’t put into words how right she feels against me. I can’t tell her the sheer relief I feel kissing her, feeling all her passion and intensity focused on kissing me as she tugs me closer, tries to pull my shirt up to feel me. It’s like I’ve been waiting for her for ten years. Waiting to have her again anddidn’t know it or acknowledge it until now. It’s better than I fucking dreamed.

So I bundle her in my arms and pant against her lips. “Tell me yes. Tell me not to stop.”

Noelle grins and nips my bottom lip as I lead her to my room. “Make me.”

From her that’s a neon flashing sign of ‘yes’, but I’m still going to ask again when it matters.

Because when it comes to her, I don’t wantanythingleft unsaid, anymore.

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