Page 32 of Kiss Away Your Pain (Wounded Hearts 2)

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Candi

When I enter the bathroom, it’s just as tidy as the rest of the house. He’s definitely a minimalist. Matching soap dispenser and trash can, they look like they’re from Bed Bath & Beyond. Hand towel that complements the brown, black, and gold shower curtain. I know it’s wrong, but I have to peek inside his medicine chest. Is he honestly this neat or is he hiding his mess? I open it to find everything in order. No goo seeping out from his toothpaste, nothing weird or sketchy-looking.

I close it and look in the mirror.Whew.He’s certainly perfected the art of seduction. The simple act of him putting his finger in my mouth made my nipples hard. I’m not used to a man being attentive on that side of things. Dom’s idea of foreplay was touching my ass. One squeeze of my ass-cheek and he was ready to go. Then I did all the work. I didn’t mind though. I loved him and that’s how we worked. Enzo’s energy is magnetic and powerfully sensual.As much as he turns me on, am I ready for this?

Seeing whipped cream splattered all over his T-shirt, I re-wet the cloth and wipe the spots then wet it again and wrap it around the bits that flew into my hair. One last look in the mirror.There’s no labels here. You’re enjoying the company of a man. Who knows where it’ll go? Maybe nowhere. And maybe, he’ll help you let go of Dom.I look at his ring on my chain.

I go back out to the kitchen and he’s cleaned things up a little. I peek at the bowl of fluffy whipped cream.

“I went ahead and whipped it up. The biscuits are almost done,” he says, glancing at the oven.

“It’s probably safer that you did.” We both chuckle because it’s true.

The timer dings and he gets mitts from a drawer then pulls out the cookie sheet, setting it on top of the stove. I sit at the island and sip my whiskey, watching him. He takes a bowl of strawberries out of the fridge, removes the plastic wrap, and stirs them. The sugary scent fills my nose.

“Can I have one?”

“Sure.” He grabs a spoon, scoops a few strawberries into it, and leans across the island.

I open my mouth and he puts the spoon in, keeping his eyes on mine. The instant the sweet fruit hits my tongue, I close my eyes. “Mmm, so good.” When I open my eyes, he’s smiling. “Can we make them now?”

“Not yet. The biscuits need to cool.” He grabs his whiskey glass. “Want more?”

“Just a little.”

He takes my glass and goes to his cart. “I don’t have the best view, but you can see some of the city lights from my terrace. Want to check it out while the biscuits cool?”

“Okay.”

He hands me my glass and we go out to his terrace.

I take a sip of my whiskey and set it on the glass top of the small iron table of the bistro set. He has a decent view. With his condo being on a hill, I can see some of downtown L.A. and the twinkling lights of taller buildings. Walking to the railing, I stretch my arms across it and look up at the sky. Inhaling, my body warms from the whiskey.

His chest pressed lightly against my back, he grazes his hands past my waist and places them on the railing. “This city has its own energy, doesn’t it?” he asks, his breath heating my ear.

“It does.”

We stand quietly. Breathing. Listening to each other’s breaths.

He kisses the top of my head and gets our drinks, handing me my glass. We take sips and return our attention to the view, resting our arms on the railing.

“I’m enjoying this,” he says quietly, that low huskiness making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “I haven’t wanted to spend time like this with anyone in a long time.” He pauses, turning his body toward me. “What is it that you want right now, Candi?”

Our energies weave together, need baiting us. Respect growing deeper. Something unfamiliar, powerful, is creeping in.

“Right now? In this moment?”As my heart rate is kicking up?I can’t stop my eyes from sweeping to his lips. A knot of desire twists inside me.

“Yeah.” His gaze is tender, curious, and totally lacking in anything sexual.

All I can think is that I want him to kiss me. God, I loved the way he kissed me.Not ready.

I take a larger gulp of my whiskey. “Strawberry shortcake.” I breathe, a little too loudly. “I want strawberry shortcake.”

He chuckles. “Then let’s go make ‘em.”

We grab our glasses and go back to the kitchen. He takes out plates and forks, putting them on the island. Then he grabs a spatula and places a biscuit on each plate.

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