Her pulse notched up. “You’ll what?”
He responded by kissing her so abruptly that Libby didn’t have time to even draw a breath.
His chest was hard, but his mouth, oh, God, his mouth was not. It was soft and wet, and his tongue was in her mouth, swirling around, stirring up all sorts of feelings and emotions and flames. He put his hand on her face, cupping her chin, holding her firmly in place while he kissed her so thoroughly her knees began to give way. It was a bolt of lightning shocking through every vein, every muscle, every tissue. Sparks were swirling around scattered thoughts that she shouldn’t be doing this, but she liked it, all of it mixing into one hot, wet mess. She could feel herself sinking beneath the haze of arousal, curving into him, pressing against his chest and legs, wanting in.
Libby grabbed his tie and held on, mildly disturbed that she had not even a whimper of protest in her, and worse, the fleeting thought that she would like to take off her clothes, right now, at the front door. All her female senses and desires were uniting in solidarity, making her willingly pliable so that his mouth and his tongue could do whatever they wanted to do to her. She hadn’t felt a physical response like this in so long that it seemed almost magical to her. She was reminded that she was still a living, breathing, red-blooded woman, a sexual being who missed sex.
His hand slipped around her back and down. He grabbed her hip, kneading it, and pressing it against his erection, which was possibly the most tantalizing thing she’d ever felt. She forgot everything else but the feel of Sam Winters. She forgot dogs, and Tony, and the last five months. She forgot that she had found her lowest point in a sterile room in a place called Mountain View Behavioral Health Center. She forgot that she was broke and had no idea what a business plan was, what she should do, or where she even fit any longer.
She forgot Ryan.
She forgot everything but how amazing it felt with Sam’s arms around her, with his body pressing against hers, his lips sliding across hers.
And just as abruptly as he’d started, Sam lifted his head. He did not let her go. He still held her face in one hand. His lips were wet, and his eyes, good Lord, his eyes had turned deep water–green. “Libby,” he said roughly, his gaze sliding down to her mouth, to her chest, “something is burning.”
She was burning all right, burning to a crisp—
“The banana bread!” she cried.
He dropped his arms from hers, grabbed the door and opened it. “Try not to burn the place down,” he said, and opened the door. “By the way, I don’t have a date. I’m giving a speech at a graduation ceremony.” He smiled, stepped out through the screen door and let it slam behind him, stepping over a sea of dogs and down the steps of the porch while Libby stood there trying to catch her breath, her body still on fire.
She stood there after the taillights of his truck had disappeared, and kept standing until she began to smell a little smoke with that burnt banana bread.
TEN
Here’s the good thing about the Methodists: if they come up with a good idea, they’re like dogs after dropped barbeque. But here’s the bad thing about Methodists: they don’t get good ideas that often.
Which is where I, Leo Kendrick, certified genius, come in. I am the oar in their little boat, guiding them down the stream.
Okay, so like I mentioned, I seriously need a new van. The van we have is possibly the uncoolest van in the history of all vans. It was a bread delivery truck before it was ours, and you can still see the outline of the words fresh baked on the side. I don’t think I have to tell you that those words are not conducive to the life and moves of a chick magnet, which I happen to be.
So yesterday, the Methodists came to see me like they do every Wednesday. Deb Trimble always comes, and her friend Barbara Perkins does, too. You won’t believe it, but this time, they brought Gwen Spangler! Gwen is a Methodist, can you believe it? I know Gwen, we were in school together, and I tried to kiss her under the bleachers once. She wasn’t having it, probably because she was intimidated by my masculine physique, because I mean, look at the pictures, I was a stud. Gwen was cool, though, and I haven’t seen her since she came back and shook up the Libby-Ryan apple tree. So I was super happy to see her, because I figured by now she was regretting her reluctance under the bleachers and I knew she was going to help me.