Page 78 of Fighting Words

I cross my arms when his gaze falls to my chest for a brief moment. No bra in the middle of the night. “Is that like you? I can’t remember hearing you banging around downstairs the last few weeks, but maybe you’ve been quiet?”

“No issues outside of tonight and the first night you arrived.”

Right.

“You deserve to go without sleep after the way you acted tonight.”

Nate’s expression hardens. “I can’t be nice to him.”

I frown at his admission. “Why?”

He looks away, out toward the falling snow, and I study his profile. His jaw tightens and then he takes another sip of tea. He’s not going to give me an answer, and my mind is overloaded with a thousand possibilities.

I want to know. I crave Nate’s thoughts like they hold the key to my happiness.Tell me everything you’re feeling and then maybe this will be okay. Maybe I’m not so alone here…

“Nate,” I whisper.

He looks at me out of the corner of his eyes, angry somehow.

But that’s not it, not really. All that anger is just a facade.

I reach out to touch his arm. I mean for it to be gentle, but then I have ahold of his bicep like he’s a lifeline I need for survival.

He looks down at where I touch him and then he asks point-blank, “Did he kiss you?”

I swallow and nod. “Once. When he first got here. I… He surprised me.”

“And now? Upstairs?”

“No.”

His blue eyes snap up to mine. “How is that possible?”

I let go of him and he turns then, slowly pressing closer, caging me in against the side of the kitchen counter. I have enough time to scoot away—I could—but I stay put, letting him press in around me from all sides. He drops the teacup beside me, intentionally brushing his thumb across my hip.

He steps between my legs, pressing our lower halves together.

I shiver and tip my chin up so I can look at him. Already, I’m trembling.

He looks bewitched as he lifts his hand to trace my cheek, studying me with patience that seems to be killing him. “How could he resist?”

The writing is on the wall. Everything that could happen between us seems to be unfurling quickly, out of my control.

I panic.

“Don’t kiss me,” I plead quickly. “Not while he’s here.Please.”

But Nate doesn’t listen. He leans forward and captures my mouth, effectively taking a sledgehammer to my fragile heart. Nothing exists beyond us. There’s only his gentle lips. His claiming hands. His hips pinning me in place. I kiss him back with hunger, inhaling his heady scent and taste. I touch his shoulders—his hot skin—and I melt against him until we’re completely flush.

Already our bodies recognize this for what it is. Our hips meet and I shamelessly rub myself against him. His hand slips between our bodies, up beneath my t-shirt. The heat of his palm feels like it’s branding me. He trails his fingers along my hip and the side of my stomach. Then his hand slides up over my ribs, and he cups my heavy breast with a deep moan. I feel it like he’s already inside me. He is, really. Nate has etched himself on the delicate underbelly of my soul in a way no man has before, and itenragesme how easy it has been for him, how little it takes. A midnight kiss and suddenly, I’m his forever.

I push him away with all the strength I have. He doesn’t look surprised, just guilty.

Join the club.

His lips are red, his hair disheveled. The only sound in the kitchen is our labored breathing, sharp inhales and exhales.

“I told you not to kiss me!”

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