Page 88 of This Could Be Us
I bury my head against his shoulder, face on fire, lungs burning with labored breaths. I’m not sure I would have stopped if he hadn’t. I think I would have screwed him against this door, fully clothed, panties pushed aside, legs wrapped around him like ivy. Screaming his name while they ate their fondant potatoes up the hall. My knees wobble and my heart slams against my ribs in a frantic fuck-me rhythm. I force myself to pull away, out of his arms. With the cool air of our separation comes a rush of reality. So much for my resolve to not get involved any deeper with this man.
“Thank you,” I tell him, running a hand over my unruly hair. “I probably look a mess.”
He smiles faintly. “You have lipstick everywhere.”
“Shit.” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Let me.”
He pushes aside my hand and with gentle fingers wipes around my mouth, his eyes fixed on my lips. Brushing the tousled hair away from my face, he lowers his forehead to mine. Every touch with him feels as intimate as a kiss. Even something as simple as this is charged with potent possibility. This nameless thing I feel when he is near, it lurches in my belly. It brushes across my heart and heats between my legs and rips through my good judgment. With no more than a glance, he can enflame my senses. It frightens me how little command I have of myself when he’s this close. He draws me in, and if I’m not careful, he’ll draw me away from the work I know still needs to be done inmylife before I tangle it with someone else’s.
“I’m… I’m still not dating, Judah.” I force myself to pull back far enough to look at him directly. “I shouldn’t have… I don’t mean to string you along.”
“You’re not.” He cups my chin, lifting it, his long fingers splayed over my throat. “It was a kiss. I won’t pretend I don’t want you, and I hope you won’t pretend what just happened didn’t just happen, but I respect your decision.”
“That kiss was—”
“I don’t regret it.” He bends down to kiss my hair, brushes it behind my ear and over my shoulder. “But I get it and I’ll wait.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t see each other at all,” he continues. “We did say we’re friends, right?”
“Friends. Yeah,” I agree cautiously. “I bet I look like I’ve been dragged through a bush, so I’m gonna try to sneak past the dining room and out to my car.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
“No, you don’t have to.” I bend to grab my purse, long forgotten, from the floor. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
He gifts me with one of his rare wide smiles. “Of that I have no doubt.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
SOLEDAD
Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!” Hendrix says, loaded with shopping bags, when she enters the kitchen. “Bringing tidings of joy and rich-auntie energy.”
“Gifts!” Lottie claps. She knows Hendrix is heavy on the “rich” when it comes to presents. “Thank you, Aunt Hen!”
A glance into the bag confirms that Hendrix really outdid herself spoiling the girls this year.
“Now you showing out,” I tell her, shaking my head and smiling down into the bag.
“Just acting my wage,” she laughs. “What else am I gonna spend my money on?”
Lottie takes the bulging bag from Hendrix, visions of sugarplums and gift cards no doubt dancing in her head.
“We’re not opening gifts until midnight, Lottie,” I remind her.
“Awww, Mom.” She half-heartedly stomps one slippered foot.
“You girls are the ones who said you wanted a traditional Nochebuena.” I glance up from the fresh pan ofpasteles. “Gifts at midnight. How you coming over there, Inez?”
“I’m making the achiote oil,” she says, pouring the red annatto seeds into a pot to warm.
“Good.” I nod to Lupe and her cutting board filled with vegetables. “When you’re done, help your sister with the yautia and malanga for the masa.”
“This batch is ready to go,” Lola says, entering from the butler’s pantry carrying a crate of brightly colored gift boxes and carafes of coquito.