Page 45 of Tripped By Love
His hands were crossed over his chest, stance wide, as if he was expecting to have to fight an army of people. The smell of him washed over me as I got closer…spice and soap. His skin was red and glowing from the heat of the shower. My body ached for him. Wanted him so badly that it coiled through me whenever he was near and especially when he was looking at me like this. As if he wanted to shake me or kiss me or swear at me all at once.
“Excuse me,” I said, sliding past him into the laundry room.
“Oh, good, you’re back. I’m going to go shower,” Jonas said and practically ran from the kitchen as if he’d sensed the sexual tension drifting between Marco and me and wanted nothing to do with it.
Chevelle had passed out on the rug in front of the washer. If I let him sleep, he’d never go to bed at seven-thirty, but if I woke him, he’d be cranky. I switched the towels and stuffed animal to the dryer and decided to leave him be. The floor wasn’t comfortable. He’d wake on his own before long. I pulled one of the crib blankets from the shelf above the machines and draped it over him.
When I came back into the kitchen, Marco had picked up where Jonas had left off, cutting the last few zucchinis.
“There’s a flaw in your logic, you know,” he said. I loved how his voice filled a room. No matter the volume, it felt like it occupied the entire space. Powerful. Commanding.
“What do you mean?”
“You’d sacrifice for Chevelle over and over again, right?” he asked.
“Of course!”
“Will you ever feel bitter about it?”
“That’s totally different than what Jonas and I were talking about,” I said, grabbing the slices and finishing off the ramekins. “A parent is supposed to give everything for their child. They aren’t equals. But if a couple goes into something assuming one is more than the other in some way, then it will always end badly.”
He stepped closer to me, close enough that his thigh hit mine. Close enough that when he spoke, the warmth of his breath trailed over my skin.
“Is that why you’ve never had a serious relationship? Because you’re afraid that your partner will always think you’re less? That the scales are uneven? That you’ll be a burden?” His voice sounded pained, filled with heartache that was all for me and not himself.
His words were partly true. Not completely. I hadn’t had much opportunity to be in a relationship. There had never been a line of guys wanting to date Clumsy Cassidy. But I also would have hated feeling like I could never be enough. Or worse, have someone afraid to break up with me because they felt duty-bound to protect me.
I shrugged.
He captured my hands, bringing them to his chest and covering them with his own large ones. Solid and strong. But I could feel the wild pace of his heart beneath them. Like he’d run miles again. It matched the unsteady rhythm of my own beats.
“Clayton was a fool. Just like any man who can’t see the brave, strong, passionate woman you are. You could never be less.”
The words seared through my heart, burning, leaving a mark behind that would be hard to cover up. Hard to heal.
“I’m more than my hypotonia and an extra X-chromosome,” I said in a voice that faltered.
He shook his head. “You don’t have to be more than those things, Angel. They’re just part of you. Like your halo of blonde hair and your beautiful golden eyes.”
I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to breathe again. The term of endearment falling from his lips along with the heat in his eyes. The look that said he wanted to devour me just as much as I wanted him to.
“Falling all the time isn’t beautiful,” I said and wanted to grimace. My statement wasn’t a woe-is-me moment. It was a fact, but it could also have been perceived as seeking empathy I didn’t want.
“It’s sort of endearing.”
My breath caught. I was going to be falling, figuratively and emotionally, if I didn’t find my way back from the depths of his touch and his gaze.
“Endearing? That word seems so wrong coming from your lips,” I tried to tease.
“Does it? What word would seem more fitting?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t think.”
That caused his lips to quirk. Not quite a smile, but an upward curl to them that made me want to kiss each corner.
Loud feet on the back steps drew us apart, reluctantly. Slowly. And as much as I had liked Jonas for defending me and Chevelle, I wished he wasn’t there. I wished Marco and I had been able to finish lighting the candle burning slowly between us. That we’d been able to fan it into a flame that consumed us until it allowed us to throw away our cautiousness and just lose ourselves in the feel of hands and mouths and tongues coasting over each other.
Jonas didn’t even register that we’d been tangled together. His head was bent to the phone in his hand, a frown on his face as he let the screen door slam behind him.
