Page 24 of Embers in Autumn
“To learning the difference between ambiance and arson,” she answered, clinking her glass to mine. The sound was bright and delicate. She took a sip and closed her eyes for a heartbeat. I felt that small movement like a tug under my ribs.
Silence slipped in. Not empty. Waiting. She tucked a curl behind her ear and looked anywhere but at me.
“Listen,”Her words tumbled over themselves, nervous and quick, and all I could do was stare at her mouth. “I am not good at this. Whatever this is. Is it a date? That feels too formal. Not a date sounds like a lie. Maybe it is pie with a person I like looking at, which is ridiculous, because who says that out loud—”
I could not stop myself from smiling. God, she was cute like this. All flustered, eyes darting, lip caught between her teeth asif she could hold the words back. She had no idea what she did to me standing there in that soft sweater, with her hair loose around her shoulders and her cheeks warm from the oven.
I stepped closer. One small shift, but it brought me into her orbit, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin.
“Let’s find out what it is,” I said, and I kissed her.
The moment our lips touched, I knew I was lost. She melted against me, her body fitting mine as if she had been made to. I cupped her face, tilted her head, deepened the kiss until she opened for me. She tasted of wine and something sweeter, something that was just her.
Her fingers slid into my hair, tugging just enough to make my control fray. I groaned low in my throat, and she pressed closer, chest to chest, thigh brushing my leg. My hands dropped to her waist, pulling her against me until there was no space left.
And that was when my mind betrayed me.
Because kissing her was not enough. Not nearly.
I wanted to feel that sweater riding up under my palms, her skin bare and hot against my hands. I wanted to press her against the counter, knock aside the wine glasses, hear her gasps as I kissed down her neck. I wanted to slide my hands lower, grip her hips, lift her until she wrapped around me and I could bury myself so deep she would never think of anyone else again.
The thoughts came sharp, hungry, flooding through me until my whole body ached with them. And yet I held back. Because she was trembling, not with fear but with nerves, and this could not be rushed.
So I poured it all into the kiss. Into the way my tongue slid against hers, into the pressure of my hand at her back, into the way I breathed her in like she was oxygen after a fire.
Amber kissed me back with growing boldness, tugging harder at my hair, tilting her body into mine until I felt the sweet arch of her curves. I lost myself in the sound she made when Inipped lightly at her lip, a half whimper that nearly undid me.
I wanted to strip her bare and fuck her right then and there. I wanted to taste every inch. I wanted her legs shaking around me as I ruined her for every man who had come before.
Instead, I pressed her tighter against me and let the fantasy burn in my head. I kissed her like a man starving, like this was the only meal I would ever be given, and let the rest stay locked in my mind where it belonged. For now.
Somewhere, the oven timer beeped, sharp and insistent. She broke away, panting, her forehead pressed to mine. I caught her breath against my lips, swallowed down my own hunger.
“Pie,” she whispered, voice shaky.
“Right,” I said, though my body screamed at me to drag her back into the kiss.
She stepped away, cheeks flushed, lips red and swollen, sweater askew. I forced my hands to drop, flexing them at my sides, imagining all the ways I could touch her if she let me.
The oven beeped again. She reached for mitts with shaking fingers, and I leaned against the counter, fighting for control.
If pie had not interrupted us, I was not sure how far we would have gone. And God help me, all I wanted was to find out.
Amber busied herself with the pie like it required every ounce of her concentration. Knife in hand, shoulders stiff, not a single glance my way. Her cheeks were still flushed, her lips swollen from our kiss, but she acted as if nothing had happened.
She slid a wedge of pie onto a plate and set it in front of me, then went to the freezer. The cartons of ice cream landed on the counter between us. “Which one?” she asked, her voice steady but her eyes fixed anywhere but me.
“Vanilla,” I said.
That made her falter. Just for a second. Her hazel eyes lifted, hesitant, and when they finally met mine I saw it—the barricades she’d built around herself. High, layered, thick. Every time Icracked one, ten more slid into place.
I leaned back in my chair, watching her, fork untouched. “That bad, huh?”
Her head snapped up. “What?”
“He hurt you that bad,” I said quietly. “So bad you buried yourself so deep you forgot which way is up.”
The words landed. She froze, her hand tightening on the carton lid.
