Page 59 of If My Wishes Came True
I let him lead, and the kiss is soft, sweet, and gentle.
No tongue. He’s playing by the rules, which is both incredibly sexy and unbearably frustrating. His impressive restraint and unwavering respect for me only make me want him to throw me over his shoulder, toss me onto his bed, and have his way with me.
One thing’s for sure. The ball will be in my court tonight.
“Come in,” he says, closing the door behind me. Then he eyes the plate in my hand. “Did you make brownies?” he asks with an adorable grin that reminds me of a kid on Christmas morning.
I nod. “Now, I don’t want you to feel threatened, because the Sutton’s brownie mix is respectable…”
He chuckles, giving me a look out of the corner of his eye thatturns my legs into putty.
“But these are the chocolatiest brownies you’ll ever have,” I continue. “I used to make them for cheer meets in high school. I’m kinda famous for them.”
Charlie just looks at me for a moment with that smitten gaze of his. Then he shakes his head. “God, I love?—”
My breath hitches.
“Brownies,” he says after the slightest pause. “I love brownies. You know, with my sweet tooth, and all.”
“I had a feeling,” I say with a smile, although my pulse is racing. Did Charlie almost tell me helovesme?
As he takes the plate from my hand and puts it on the kitchen island, I shake the thought from my mind. It’s still so early in our relationship. That thunderbolt that struck the instant we crashed into each other was just lust, right? He couldn’t possibly love me yet.
Although the look in his eyes sure seems to say otherwise.
“So this is the famous dress you were wearing in the viral video,” he says before turning his attention to the stove. The tagine is simmering in a pot, and the mix of spices in the air is intoxicating, making me hungry for more than just Charlie. “Did you ever get back to the designer about modeling for them during Fashion Week?”
My cheeks warm. “I’m surprised you remember that.” I’d only mentioned it to him once, a couple of weeks ago, when we were walking home from the Museum of Contemporary Art. He’d asked what I was planning to do with the rest of my day, and I told him I’d be replying to all the inquiries I’d receivedsince going viral. I guess I can add “good listener” to his list of swoonworthy qualities.
“I decided against it,” I continue. “I mean, I’m flattered, of course. But I think my fifteen minutes of fame is finally coming to an end, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Charlie looks at me over his shoulder as he stirs our dinner, and smiles. “Not a fan of the spotlight, I take it?”
I tilt my head. “It’s not that, really. I’m just afraid walking in their runway show will put me back in the news as the ‘Bombshell Interior Designer,’ and I’ll get slammed with design inquiries again—when, deep down, my heart’s not in it.”
He turns from the stove and steps toward me, his arms settling around my waist. “You just want to paint,” he says, matter-of-factly.
I nod, enjoying the way Charlie understands me. And the way his hands feel on my body. “I do. And life’s too short not to follow your heart, right?”
He tucks my hair behind my ear, then grazes his fingers down my jawline and under my chin. “Ain’t that the truth,” he says with a glimmer in his eyes as he lifts my head to kiss me.
His lips are so pillowy soft that I can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like on other parts of my body.
It’s not like me to want someone this much. It’s not that I don’t crave sex. But more often than not, the reality doesn’t live up to the fantasy in my head—and instead of passionate kisses, frenzied touches, and mind-blowing orgasms, it’s just me trying to keep my mind from wandering to my to-do list.
Something tells me I won’t have that problem with Charlie.My body has never reacted this way to anyone before. Just his lips on mine makes me pulse, everywhere, with desire. I feel the rush of blood flow to my breasts, and deep inside my core, and between my thighs. I sigh into his mouth, letting our tongues touch, pulling him so close that I can feel my heart hammer against his rock-hard chest.
I don’t just want him. Ineedhim. There’s a fire burning inside me that only Charlie Sutton can put out. As he threads his fingers through my hair, the heat between us rises so high, I can practically hear a sizzle in the air?—
“Dammit, the tagine,” Charlie says breaking away to check on the food. He lifts the lid of the pot and breathes out a sigh of relief. “We’re good. Wanna eat before I burn down the building?”
I giggle. “Absolutely. It smells amazing.”
“I hope you like it. I made a chicken tagine with apricots and almonds. And I have a few bottles of wine for you to choose from.”
He pulls the selection from his wine fridge, and I pick an Italian pinot grigio, trying not to get too lost in a daydream of me and Charlie on vacation there together. Ever since he mentioned that his friend, the travel journalist, invited him to Italy next summer to take photographs for his book, I haven’t been able to get my mind off the idea that maybe—if the stars align, and we’re still dating—I might join him.
I’ve been dreaming of a trip to Italy since I was a teenager. There’s even a drawing in my journal to prove it. Christy was right that I put all my wishes in it for safekeeping. It’s like the inside of my heart, transferred to paper. And on the very last page is a sketch of me and the man of my dreams, kissing infront of the Colosseum in Rome.
