Page 72 of When Wrecked Meets Ruined
She lifted her arms out of the water, wrapped them around my neck, and cinched her legs around my waist, and I held her up, treading water to keep us afloat.
“Kiss me,” she said, tipping her face up.
Her offer was tempting, but too many people had taken too much from her. “No.”
She pulled back. “No?”
“I want you to kiss me.”
She hesitated a moment, and I thought she would break free and swim for the dock.
Instead, she cradled my face in her hands and pressed her cool lips against mine. We stayed like that for a few long moments. Just breathing each other’s soft breaths. And I didn’t push for more, only taking what she was willing to give.
It was more intimate, more intense than a kiss, and it was a fucking miracle that I could keep us both afloat.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
Evie
After a steaminghot shower that turned my skin pink and scented the air with Ridge’s shower gel, I got dressed in his clothes. A blue Maverick’s football T-shirt, soft and faded, and gray boxer briefs that I had to roll the waistband to keep them from slipping down my legs. Wiping the steam off the mirror with a towel, I finger-combed my hair and swept away the last remnants of mascara from under my eyes. My dark nail polish was chipped, but this was as good as it got after being tossed in a cold lake.
I padded down the stairs, twisting my hair into a knot on top of my head as I went.
His place was nice. Simply furnished with a leather sofa and two chairs, a rustic wood coffee table, and a braided rug on the honey wood floor. A guitar case was propped in the corner with expensive-looking sound equipment against the wall next to the TV.
In one of his letters, Ridge told me he liked playing his acoustic guitar to chill out. I’d never heard him play, but now I wanted to.
He looked over from the stove, spatula in hand, his eyes making a leisurely descent before returning to my face.
“I like you in my clothes.” He winked. “But they’d look better on the floor.”
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“I made my intentions clear. But like I said, this….” He ran his hand over his bare chest and abs, so sculpted I could count all six. “Is off-limits to you. All you’re getting from me tonight is a grilled cheese sandwich.”
My mouth watered at the scent of butter and melted cheese, and okay, maybe at the sight of a shirtless Ridge in gray sweat shorts that hung low on his narrow waist and showed off his V cut. His body was so perfect it didn’t seem fair. “I’d rather have grilled cheese anyway.”
With a smirk, he flipped the sandwiches in the pan. “That’s only because you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“What am I missing?” I pulled up a stool on the other side of the breakfast bar and propped my chin on my hands.
“The best you’ve ever had.”
“Cocky.”
“Confident.” He slid the grilled cheese sandwiches onto two plates, cut them on the diagonal with the spatula, and set one in front of me. “Taste this and tell me it’s not the best you’ve ever had.”
He joined me at the counter, and I swiveled on the stool so I was facing him. We were sitting parallel to the counter, our feet hooked on the stool rungs. “Do you always have to be the best at everything?”
“I’m a McCallister,” he said with a shrug. As if that explained everything.
I bit into my grilled cheese and let out a moan. “Oh my god, so good,” I said around a mouthful of gooey cheese and fried bread.
“Yes, I am.”
I was too busy stuffing my face to comment. I hadn’t eaten anything since the three strips of bacon and toast at the diner this afternoon.
“Good thing I made four,” Ridge said, watching me lick my fingers after demolishing the sandwich. He returned to the stove, slid another sandwich onto each of our plates, and filled two Mason jars with iced tea before taking his seat again.
