Page 104 of Every Thought Taken

Swoon.

While Anderson changes into something more comfortable, I remove dinner from the oven. Take the hot plates to the two-seater dining table off the kitchen, followed by the salad. Fetch wineglasses from the cabinet and pour chardonnay halfway in each before placing them on the table. Shuffling back to the kitchen, I grab napkins, cutlery, and the lighter I keep in the kitchen.

As I light a double-wick candle at the heart of the table, warm arms band around my middle. Swathe me with heat and hunger and love. My eyes fall shut as his lips kiss up the curve of my shoulder to beneath my ear. The pace slow and torturous yet addictive.

Desperate for more, I tilt my head. Expose more of my neck to him. My heart soars beneath my breastbone as he kisses and licks and nips my sensitive skin. He undoubtedly feels theth-thump, thump, thumpof my racing pulse beneath his lips.

Inching higher, he sucks the lobe of my ear between his lips and I gasp. One of his hands drifts up, cupping my shoulder, while the other slips down and hooks on my hip, pinning my back to his front. And there is no mistaking the bulge beneath his sweats pressing my lower back.

Dear god.

My head swirls. Lust clouds every logical thought I possess. All sense of rationale leaves my body as I get lost in all things Anderson Everett. His hands on my body equally tender and rough. His woodsy scent in the air I breathe. The soft growl escaping his lips and vibrating my sensitive skin.

And damn, it feels divine. Him. This. Us.

Sublime.

I squeeze my thighs together, praying for an ounce of friction. A dose of relief from the ache between my legs. A hint of respite. I open my mouth, ready to say,“Screw dinner.”

But I don’t get the opportunity.

“Let’s eat,” he declares, giving my ear one last nip before he steps back. He moves to his side of the table, pulls out the chair, and sits down as if he hadn’t spent the last few minutes deliciously torturing me.

No way he isn’t affected. No. Way.

Mentally growling, I take a seat across from him. Here I am, pulling out all the stops to seduce Anderson, and he flips the script.Damn it.

Reaching for my wine, I bring the glass to my lips and study the man opposite me. He unfolds the cloth napkin, lays it in his lap, and surveys the meal on his plate. His lips tip up in a slow smile as he picks up his fork. Lines bracket his eyes as his smile widens, brightens. He doesn’t look up from his plate, but he sees me in his periphery, watching him.

He likes my eyes on him. I like my eyes on him too.

I cast aside any preconceived ideas of seducing him at the dinner table. Instead, I settle into the moment. Pick up my fork, twirl it in the creamy pasta, spear a shrimp, then sigh as the bite hits my tongue.

After the first bite, I ask Anderson about his day at the coffee shop. He tells me how great it feels to have purpose, something he was concerned about before returning. We share the day’s events over dinner like a normal couple, like longtime lovers. And with ease, one subject blends into another. As if we have done this our entire lives. As if we are meant to keep doing this.

I love the warm buzz in my chest at the idea of forever with Anderson.

When our plates empty, we take them to the kitchen and clean up. He washes and I dry. We ebb and flow, moving fluidly around each other without a word. As if he’s predicting my every move and I his.

“Movie?” he asks as I put the silverware in the drawer.

“Yes, please.” I hang the towel on the oven handle and go to the fridge. “I’ll get dessert.”

He reaches for my hand, hooks a finger with mine, and gives a slight tug. “Don’t be long.” Then he lets go and walks toward the couch. Smoky mewls at his feet and he scoops her up, tucking her into his side. “Gotta help Dad pick a good movie.” He kisses her furry head.

My heart melts again at his referring to himself as her dad.

I grab the box of sweets from the fridge and tear off a few paper towels before joining Anderson and Smoky on the couch. He chooses a movie that looks nothing like what he’d watch—a Hallmark-esque romance—and I narrow my eyes at him.

“Closet romantic?” I tease, biting the inside of my cheek.

The most serious expression dons his face as he gives me his attention. “With you, always.”

I swallow down the swelling lump in my throat. Lick my lips and tuck them between my teeth. Warm, calloused fingers dance along my jaw, his thumb stroking the seam of my lips. I release my hold on them and gasp at his touch.

Inch by painstaking inch, he closes the space between us and presses a kiss to my lips. My eyes flutter closed at the soft brush of his lips. A ghost of a caress, powerful in its own right. A buzz ignites where our lips touch. Tingles erupt beneath my skin, goose bumps dancing over my flesh. And the moment I part my lips to deepen the kiss, it ends.

My eyes fly open and meet his hungry gaze.Why?on the tip of my tongue. But before I get the chance to ask, he kisses the tip of my nose and settles into the couch.

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