Page 53 of Finding Gideon
That made him snort. Actuallysnort. “Okay, you need to stop. I’m trying to be a responsible adult here.”
“Too late. You just kissed me three times.”
“You kissedmethe third time.”
“And you didn’t stop me.”
He smiled again, slower this time. “No. I didn’t.”
His thumb traced my lower lip.
“We should cool off before we do something one of us isn’t ready for,” he said, voice low. “But I want you to know—this,you—it’s not some midlife detour.”
I bit my lip, feeling everything settle into place inside me.
“I’ve never felt more on the right road,” I whispered.
And maybe that was enough for tonight.
We didn’t kiss again right away. We just sat there, tangled in each other, trading quiet smiles and soft, stunned touches.
Two grown men. Slightly dazed.Ridiculously hard. And happier than we had any right to be.
Chapter 17
Malcolm
Gideon knelt in the yard in front of the three-legged mutt with a towel slung over one shoulder and a jar of ointment in his hand. His voice was low, almost a whisper, coaxing the dog closer with soft encouragement and a bit of leftover chicken from lunch. The dog hesitated at first, ribs showing less these days, fur starting to fill in, and the patch near his hip growing the faintest sheen. It was the gentlest lean imaginable—the dog's chin against Gideon's palm—but it stilled everything in me.
I’d been the one to medicate him, clean his wounds, stitch the worst of it. But this? This was different. The dog wasn’t tolerating Gideon. He was choosing him.
Dennis yawned beside me, long and loud, unimpressed with the attention the other dog was getting. I rubbed behind his ears until he slumped over on his side in surrender. Gideon looked up, gave a half-smile. Not the flirty kind, or the cautious ones he wore when he was unsure of his footing. This was soft. Easy. Familiar.
“He’s doing better,” Gideon murmured, fingers brushing gently over the dog’s back leg—what was left of it.
“He trusts you.” I crouched beside them and added, “Not an easy thing for either of you.”
He didn’t look up. “I guess we’re both working on it.”
The honesty in his voice landed in my chest like something weighty and warm. I glanced over, meant to check the wound, but caught his expression instead—concentrated, tender. A streak of sunlight caught his hair. His mouth curved again, lips dry but pink from being chewed at, and something in me tilted.
Attraction, sure. I’d acknowledged that weeks ago. But arousal? I hadn’t let my mind linger there. Until now. The way his forearm flexed when he reached for the ointment. The dip of his waist under that worn grey shirt. The way his jeans bunched at the knee when he shifted on the floor.
Sexy. Jesus.
I sat back on my heels. “Are you always this good with the ones who’ve been kicked around?”
“Is it that obvious?” His smile was crooked now, a little bashful.
“It’s not a bad thing,” I said. “You don’t treat them like they’re broken.”
His gaze flicked to me for a second. “Neither do you.”
Maybe that was why we ended up here, orbiting each other like this. Same cautious tenderness. Same hunger that felt too big to name.
A car door closed around the corner. I stood, brushing dog hair from my jeans as footsteps approached the open side gate. Gideon stepped aside as a small voice carried into the yard before its owner appeared.
“Zuri said you had a rescue dog. A special one.”
