Page 57 of Living with Fire

I know he’s thinking about that kiss as much as I am. My lips are still tingling, and I wonder if he’ll allow himself to kiss me again tonight, or if that would be tempting fate too much.

We don’t say a word to each other the entire way to his place, the silence thick with sexual tension pulsing between us. It’s enough to make me ache between my legs, which has my knees bouncing with energy I won’t get to expend tonight.

I don’t want to wait. I don’t want him to be so respectful. I want him to let go of his control and have his way with me, and I want that to happen tonight.

I have this feeling that it’s not just him being a gentleman and wanting to take me on a date before he gets me in bed. He wants me to be sure of what I’m doing, and after the information I shared tonight, doesn’t think I can make that choice soundly. I respect it, but I don’t necessarily like it. I’m already positive about this and have been for longer than this evening. I just don’t know how to make him see that.

The chance is lost when he parks his truck and we get out, his hand finding mine when we meet around the vehicle. Without a peep from either of us, he leads me into the house, taking me straight to my bedroom door. I think we both know where this will end up if we linger anywhere in the house together. When he turns to me, I have confirmation of that. The battle is still warring in his eyes, unwilling to lose the fight, though I don’t think he knows which side he’s really on.

I wish I could throw myself at him, or make myself start stripping right here so that desire would make the decision for him, but since we’ve met, he’s always given me everything I need, allowing me to come to terms with things on my own. I want to do the same thing for him. If that means waiting until tomorrow, so be it. Even if it seems like it’ll kill me.

“If I kiss you, I won’t stop,” he murmurs quietly, eyes searching mine.

He’s still holding onto my hand, his fingers gently moving along mine, like he’s nervous. I can feel the uncertainty radiating off him; he wants me to tell him it’s okay, not to kiss me, but I think he also wants me to give him permission to do so.

I give him neither. “I know.”

Nate groans in response, his forehead bowing until it’s touching mine, eyes falling closed. “I don’t want the reason we do this tonight to be because of what some asshole did to you, that I then joked about.”

My mouth opens to respond to him, then snaps shut quickly. It would be so easy to lash out and tell him he’s crazy if he thinks that’s why I want to do this, but I realize this isn’t about me.

I suddenly understand it clearly.

This is about him still sitting on a ledge for what he said about locking me in the office. He’s not worried about me not being ready, and he may not truly be concerned he hasn’t taken me out on a date yet.

He’s punishing himself.

I release his hand to bring both of mine to his face, easing myself back so I can see him as his eyes open. “That would never be my reason. It’s so far from any reason I can think of to do this. But it’s okay if you’re not there, Nate. I get it. I told you so much tonight and I know that takes some time to process.”

I stand on my tip toes and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering there for just a moment. “I’ll see you in the morning. I can’t wait for our date.”

Then I release him and step into my bedroom, giving him a smile before I close the door, leaving him in the hallway.

CHAPTER 21

SAVANNA

I don’t know if Nate had the strength to walk away tonight. I wouldn’t have thought I did, but I knew I had to do it for him. As much as I want him, I want all of him, not just pieces that can be here when others are stuck in his mind, thinking things through.

I wish I’d thought of that stupid button-down while we were first kissing because I can only imagine what might have happened if he hadn’t thought I was moving too fast. Maybe I could have kept him out of his mind long enough for him to be so into the moment that he couldn’t have gotten out.

Then again, if he’d taken me right there in the bar, I wouldn’t want him to regret it afterwards, or to think the reason we went there was because of Vincent and what happened tonight.

I sigh and squeeze my eyes shut, leaning back against the closed door, a flame of burning hot anger spiking through me. Vincent. As hard as I try to rid my life of him, he’s still following me around, even if only as a memory.

The aggravation slowly dies out when I hear Nate move down the hall to his bedroom. Pushing off the door, I walk to the dresser and search for something to wear to bed, coming across my softest spaghetti strapped top and matching bottoms.

I smile to myself as I finger the beautiful forest green fabric. It’s a far cry from Jordan’s near see-through t-shirt, but Nate would probably find it just as alluring with the amount of skin it shows.

I don’t regret telling him the things I did, but I’m disappointed that such a fun night ended on such a low note. Sure, there were a couple of bumps in my evening to begin with, but by the time dinner came, those things were forgotten, and we all had a great time.

It was so much fun getting to know Nate’s friends. The way they made me feel included was a breath of fresh air. I loved them all. I loved the camaraderie they all had, the obvious love that they felt for each other. The way they’d pick on each other, and bicker with one another, and how someone would always come to another’s defense.

After changing, I pad down the hallway to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face, laughing at the memory of Brody’s face when he realized he wasn’t the only hockey fan at the table. It wasn’t a surprise to me, thanks to Nate sharing that nugget of information one night, but Nate obviously hadn’t shared back. Oh, how Brody had suffered when he’d jolted upright in excitement, pain from his injuries overriding enthusiasm I’d never before seen from him.

When he’d finally recovered, we entered a twenty minute conversation about our favorite teams, the blockbuster trades and signings, and the upcoming season. It was the most I’d ever seen Brody speak at one time, and it would have gone longer, but Quinn interrupted us declaring hockey to be as boring as watching paint dry. Brody had sniped back about her boring scrapbooking hobby, and thus the two began the great debate of who was more uninteresting. It was Liam who had finally stepped in, announcing they were both dull, and getting laid was by far the best pastime one could have.

They reminded me of my brothers and me. The pointless arguments in good fun, the laughter and gentle ribbing. The competition. The way this group interacted was like a family, and it warmed me all night because I felt like I was part of it. As I pat my freshly washed face and minty tasting mouth off with a towel, that warmth spreads through me again.