Page 71 of One Time in Paris
He balanced several more plates in his hands, then carried them back over to the kitchen.
After he’d cleared the table, he set to putting away the leftovers. “I don’t know how Elle and Quinn find anything in this kitchen. It’s bigger than the one at Littleton, and that’s saying something.”
He opened a drawer to reveal neatly organized utensils, then shut it.
Going over to another drawer, then another one, he frowned. No storage containers. He opened a cabinet and smiled. “Quinn would have every spice organized alphabetically,” he said in a deep voice and chortled.
“What makes you think it’s Quinn? Maybe Elle likes things neat and tidy.” A smile played on Isla’s lips as she looked over her shoulder at him.
They both laughed.Not a chance.
Another thing to like about her. She knew his family and their quirks.
Even though he and Lola only saw his family a few times together, she’d felt like a stranger in their midst, clinging to Aiden’s side, forcing laughs and smiles.
At last, he found the container he was looking for and put the leftovers away. Carrying the empty casserole dish toward the sink, he held on to it, looking for a place to set it. The counter beside the sink was already filled with dishes. “Where should I set this?” he asked at last.
“You can just put it in the sink,” Isla said, shifting over slightly to give him room.
He reached around her and set the dish down, his forearm brushing against hers as he did, his hips pressing against her backside with the barest touch.
But it was enough.
Enough to make every inch of him alert at how close she was, his body intoxicated with her instantaneously as he held on to a breath, chest tight.
Isla stiffened too, then she relaxed, leaning against him, her weight pressing harder against his hip, the smooth curve of her arse fitting against his thigh.
Aiden didn’t move his hand from the stream of water or the sudsy water swirling around their fingertips.
God, I want to touch her.
Taste her.
He reached for her fingers, letting his hand brush against hers. Then he leaned closer still, his lips grazing her ear. She’d worn a sexy little dress at dinner—black with a daring halter top neckline, her shoulders bare. “I could barely keep my eyes off you at dinner, you know.”
She smiled. “And why’s that?”
His lips nipped her earlobe. “Because I kept imagining taking this dress off you,” he growled.
Her breath caught softly, something warm and sexy in the sound. Turning her face toward his, her lips tilted toward his and caught his lower lip, soft and firmly between her own.
Fuck. Me.
Just a gentle nibble of a kiss, but enough that he didn’t pull away like he should have. His heart slammed hard into his ribs, and he returned a kiss. Then another.
A longer kiss now, unyielding, insistent, raw with hunger as he withdrew one hand from the sink and slipped it around her waist, dragging her arse tight against his hard cock.
She returned each kiss for kiss, and his body burned as he felt himself spiraling, control slipping quickly from him. Then her sweet, delicious tongue darted against his lips, urging them to part.
And he was helpless.
He tilted his head, angling it better as their mouths opened to each other, their tongues colliding with need. His grip tightened at her waist, the edge of the sink pressing into her stomach as he pushed her closer?—
“You know you guys can use the dishwa?—”
Elle’s voice came through the doorway as they sprang apart.
Oh, Christ.
