“So unbelievably hot,” I said with an appreciative groan.
She turned her neck to smell the collar and the front of the shirt. “Smells good.”
I shut my eyes briefly and clenched my fists, needing to keep my desire in check. When I opened my eyes again, I watched her every move as she unbuttoned the shirt, hung it back up, and then removed a lemon-yellow one from its hanger, trying that on and modeling it. Next, a navy shirt. Then a white one. She was stunning in everything, and I had to dig my heels into the ground to stay in place, to keep from wrapping her up in my arms and kissing her in ways that would lead to lines we weren’t ready to cross.
All it would take would be one move, one touch. I’d carry her to my bed, strip off all her clothes and kiss her everywhere.
“You look good in all my clothes, K,” I said, my voice gravelly, as I teetered, so close to the edge of breaking the rules.
She pressed her face into my shirts, pulling them near to her. My chest tightened with longing. My hunger for her threatened to rule the day, to break free of the chains I kept it in. Because I wanted her. God, how I wanted all of her.
“I love them all,” she murmured.
“I love the way you look in every single one of them,” I said. And the way I imagine you look out of them too.
“Do you want to wear this one now?” She gestured to the cobalt-blue shirt she’d tried on first. “It smells like me.”
Kill me now.
Like there was any way I’d say no. The smell of her was intoxicating, and I wanted to inhale her delicious scent all night long. “Yes.”
She handed me the blue shirt. I wore slacks and a white T-shirt, so I slid my arms into the sleeves, my eyes on her the whole time. I didn’t break the hold either; we were hooked on each other, no words would have told her more clearly that I had no interest in anything but her. I held out the cuffs, and she took my cue, stepping closer, her hands reaching for my wrist. Even that simple touch made my blood race. I stayed still, not moving an inch, as she buttoned each cuff.
A barely audible groan escaped my lips.
As she moved to the middle of the shirt, pulling the two sides together, I drew a sharp breath. My brain was flooded with images of what might happen next, like a relentless film reel flashing in front of my eyes of all this restraint snapping, and the two of us tumbling together, hands tearing at shirts, fingers tugging them off, clothes in a wild heap on the floor.
She started midway up the shirt, dressing me, each button like a slow, sensual dance. Every press of her finger torched my blood. She moved lower, sliding each button through its hole, then adjusting the collar, her fingertips brushing against my neck.
I could barely take it anymore.
“K,” I whispered, both an invitation, and a warning. Don’t come any closer. If you do, I won’t be able to hold back.
She must have sensed the danger, and knew it was up to her to keep us in check.
She stood on tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss on my lips. I grabbed her shoulders, pulled her in close, kissed her harder, needing more of her. Taking a taste of her mouth, her lips, her tongue. It wasn’t enough, but it had to be enough for now.
Then I let go, and exhaled sharply. “I had to do that,” I said.
“Yes,” she said with a wild grin. “You did.”
She stepped back, giving me space to tuck the shirt into the waistband of my pants. As I looked at her face, I didn’t see a seventeen-year-old. I saw a woman who wanted a man. Age was irrelevant. We were the same. We were instinct, we were desire, we were waiting.
“Perfect,” she whispered. “You look perfect.”
We went to a nearby restaurant. I was chancing it, having dinner with her. But I also wasn’t. We’d eaten out together before. Hell, we’d gone to Yankee Stadium together. We’d gone to shows together. We appeared as friends to the world.
Dinner was not completely absurd.
“I almost forgot. I have something for you,” I said after we ordered. I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out a slim pink jewelry box with a clear glass rectangular cutout in the middle. My heart skidded as I catalogued her reaction—excitement, anticipation, wonder. Exactly what I wanted her to feel. She clicked open the box and reached for the silvery chain with three small stylized charms—a bicycle, a skateboard, and a lacrosse stick. The tiny wheels on the skateboard, the netting in the lacrosse stick, and the spokes on the tiny bike were pink—kitschy, cool, shiny, baubly, perfect pink.
She pulled the necklace from its home and held it up to her chest. “I love it.”
“You do?”
“Yes,” she said, fingering the smooth silver of the miniature skateboard. “Where did you get it?”
“I had it made for you,” I said, hoping she’d like it, wanting desperately for her to know she was special to me. “I wanted to give you something. But I didn’t want to just get you anything any guy could get you. I wanted it to be just for you.”
“It is perfect. It’s perfect for me.”
“You don’t have to wear it now. Really. I’m just glad you like it.”
“I want to wear it now,” she said, insisting as she fiddled with the opening of the chain. “I want to wear it every day.”
Those words—every day—were like a sweet song just for me. My bones hummed with happiness to hear her say them. I longed for an every day with her.
“Let me do it,” I said, gently taking the necklace out of her hands and unfastening the clasp. “Come closer.”