Page 70 of ICED
His eyes flick to mine, and he doesn’t smile, just watches me like he’s making sure I’m really asking what I’m asking.
I am.
“Tea, huh?” he says.
I shrug, casual, though my pulse is going wild. “That’s what we’ll call it.”
And that’s it. The air shifts. The ground tips. His shoulders drop the way they do when he’s ready for a fight, but this time it’s something slower. Hotter.
“I’d love to stay,” he says.
I let out a breath and turn toward the kettle. Give myself something to do. Something to keep my hands from shaking.
“So…” I say, too lightly. “Do you want actual tea, or are we pretending now?”
“Depends. Am I still wearing clothes in this pretend scenario?”
Heat shoots up my spine. “God, you’re incorrigible.”
“I’ve been very polite.”
“Barely.”
He moves behind me, close but not touching, and I can feel the weight of him like a second heartbeat.
“I’m trying not to push you,” he says quietly. “You know that, right?”
“I know.” I turn, lean back against the counter. “And it’s why I trust you.”
His gaze drops to my mouth. “Do you?”
“I wouldn’t let you near my daughter if I didn’t.”
That gets a reaction. Something soft flickers in his eyes.
“Then I’m not gonna rush this,” he says. “But I’m also not gonna lie, if you touch me right now, I’m probably going to lose all my self-control.”
I bite my lip. “Noted.”
We stand like that for a moment. The air between us pulsing. The quiet hum of the kettle in the background. My stomach fluttering so hard I think it might lift me off the floor.
“I want this,” I say finally. “I want you. Just… I’m not great at it anymore.”
“I’m not in a rush,” he says. “We go at your pace.”
His voice is warm and low and steady, and it’s the safest I’ve felt in years.
So I step into him. Just one step. And his arms come around me like instinct.
I press my face into his chest and breathe him in. Soap and vanilla and something uniquely Owen. His hand slides up my back, the gentlest touch, his thumb stroking a slow circle against my spine.
We stay like that for a long time. Quiet. Still. Warm.
Then I tilt my head back and whisper, “Can I kiss you?”
His smile is pure heat and softness.
“I was hoping you would.”
