Page 56 of Between the Lines
Chillax, Claire. You’re not going there to make out. You’re going there to catch up on faerie smut.
All the same, I haven’t stopped thinking about his lips and his hands tracing every inch of me, haven’t stopped thinking about the lines we’ve been tap dancing across. I even tested the waters tonight, just to see what would happen underneath that table in the gym. Wouldn’t you know it? He didn’t once shy away when I pressed my knee against his, didn’t pull away when I got just a little bit bolder and pressed us together from the thigh down. In fact, I’m pretty sure there was a point where he adjusted his seat to be closer to mine.
I shake my head, reminding myself that a relationship is so far off my radar that the signal doesn’t even get picked up. He offered me a place to read and relax because he pays attention and wanted to do a nice thing.That’s all.
And yet, here I am, following behind him, and giving myself one last fantasy of his hand beneath that table on my thigh, creeping steadily closer between them, flashing back to being on my knees for him in his office, wondering what he would have done on Halloween if we hadn’t gotten interrupted, until I roll over the bump of his curb to snap me out of it.
Nathan’s house is…beautiful.
I park in the three-car driveway as he pulls inside, and step out to take in the quaint, two-story Cape Cod. It’s washed in a light blue, with three peaked windows framed in white. The front door is a bold red, and the porch is massive, a wrap-around that houses two cushioned Adirondack chairs with a table beside each. My mouth salivates immediately at the thought of a quiet morning spent in one of those chairs, a steaming mug of tea on the table beside me while I curl up to my Kindle as the sun rises. I don’t startle at the image of Nathan settling into the chair beside me. Not at first.
“Did you pack for the weekend?”
His question jostles me from my intrusive daydream. I discreetly swipe at the corner of my mouth, relief washing over me when I don’t find any drool there, and adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder.
“This is just my normal purse. Kindle, water bottle, snacks. The usual.”
“First aid kit, too?”
“Reading can be super dangerous,” I quip. “Paper cuts are no joke.”
He cracks a smile.
“Enjoying the view?”
I nod. “This place isgorgeous. Holy house porn.”
He clears his throat, and I cringe at the fact that I justsaid that out loud.
“Thank you.”
Suddenly, I remember that we’re outside in the Massachusetts late fall. A chill zips up my spine, and I follow him inside.
If the outside of the house made me drool, the inside might as well be orgasm inducing.
Old, mid-century hardwood runs the length of the place. The kitchen is state of the art, equipped with sleek, black appliances and afreaking double oven?!Oh, the meals I could make for my siblings in this place.
I shake that thought, remembering that he invited me here forme. I have no obligations here. I run my hand along the smooth granite countertop.
“Okay, Top Chef. Do you just live in this kitchen or what?”
“I uh... Don’t cook much, actually.”
I turn, facing Nathan, who has been trailing me.
“Youwhat?!” I gape. “With a kitchen like this?!”
“It came with the house,” he says simply. “I’m a pretty simple man when it comes to my tastes.”
And just like that, I wonder if we’re still talking about food. His eyes rake over me in a slow perusal, like all he wants out of this kitchen is to eat me in it. My jaw, still felled from his admission, shudders with the silent moan that escapes. My mouth wells up like the Sahara, and I find my hand resting over my heart, the rate thumping like a rabbit’s foot beneath my touch.
I wonder, briefly, if he’s going to kiss me. If he’s going to storm around this vast island with the built-in sink and burners, hoist me up onto the sparkling countertops, and make love to my mouth.
But then, he clears his throat, and I am reminded that I am here for a purpose.
To read. You are here toread.
“I’ll show you to the study.”