Page 49 of Tattered and Torn

She nods, then she tips her head back and takes a swig of her drink, her slender neck arched. For some reason, watching her swallow is turning me on.

I’m such a perverted fuck. She deserves better.

“How are you liking Bryce?” I ask, hoping to change the subject to something safer. I hate talking about myself, and I especially hate talking about my injuries.

She sets her bottle down. “I like it here. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I would, but I do. I thought I’d miss the city, the hustle and bustle, the amenities, and maybe I will eventually, but right now I’m enjoying the pristine wilderness and the snow-covered mountain peaks in the distance.”

Our gazes lock, and for a moment I can’t breathe. Her green eyes are crystal-clear, like the pristine water in a crisp mountain lake. I could stare into those eyes forever, searching for the secrets held in those deep pools.

She stares right back, not looking away, not bashful. Her gaze slowly skims across my face as she studies my features. There’s no disgust there, no sense of horror or disappointment. She’s just a woman—a beautiful woman—looking at a man.

I don’t know what to make of it. Most of the women I’ve been with lately I picked up in a dark bar, and we were both a little bit drunk. And if I fucked someone, it was with the lights off. Neither one of us is drunk right now, or anything close to it, and yet she’s watching me with something I can only describe as interest. I can’t even let myself dare to think she could be interested in me.

Gabrielle picks up her bottle and peruses the label. “It’s pretty good. I can see why it’s so popular.” She takes another sip. “I like the fruity notes behind the subtle taste of malt. It’s very crisp, bright, and balanced.” She nods as if in approval.

I laugh. “I can tell you’re a chef. If someone asked me what I thought of the beer, I’d say it’s good. I don’t have a culinary vocabulary to tell you why I like it.”

We’re still in the kitchen, haven’t moved from our spots. I don’t want to move. I don’t want this moment to end. Right now, I can pretend that we’re just a man and woman, getting to know each other, and there’s no impediment between us.

She sets her bottle on the counter. I polish off the last of my beer and set my mine down too.

Suddenly, the air thickens, and my heart jackhammers in my chest. “I should go,” I say, breaking the silence. “It’s getting late.”

The corners of her pretty lips turn down slightly. She’s disappointed.

The knowledge hits me like a blow to the gut.

How can she want me? How can she want anything to do with me—even a one-night stand?

Gabrielle walks around the kitchen island and comes to stand directly in front of me. She’s tall for a woman, so she hardly has to tilt her head up much to look me in the eye. “If you’re sure you have to go,” she says.

I nod. “I do.” My pulse is racing. “I should.”

“Or, you could stay a while longer.”

“Gabrielle, I—” Again, I get lost in those eyes. I can’t look away. “I don’t—I can’t—”

Her expression falls. “Can’t, or don’t want to? Just so I’m clear.”

“Is there a difference?”

She nods. “I think so, yes. A big difference. But either way, I guess you should go.” She takes a step back, giving me space.

“It’s not that I don’t want to.” Damn it! I’m fucking this up before it even started.

“Then what’s the problem?” she asks. “We’re both single, available, consenting adults.”

I feel my face heating. “You shouldn’t want to. That’s the problem.”

“Well, maybe I do.”

And then she shocks me senseless when she steps forward and presses her soft, warm lips to mine. When I suck in a startled breath, my lips part on their own, and she settles her gorgeous, delicious mouth against mine.

Suddenly, I’m in a freefall. I sink my right hand into her hair and grip the back of her head. With a rough and heated groan, my lips move against hers, drinking in her sigh, tasting her sweetness, her incredible responsiveness. My mind is reeling, my heart thundering. This is—she’s—fuck!

I pull back, nearly stumbling, and catch myself on the countertop.

Her beautiful eyes are wide and full of so much promise.

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