I took the last sip of my champagne, playing for time while my brain and body had a messy little argument about how to proceed.
Hartley took the glass out of my hand and set it on the trunk. “Look,” he whispered. “You can slap me right now, and tell me I’m a prick for coming on to you when my girlfriend blew me off. And then we can watch Billy Crystal bring Wesley back to life.” He downed the last of his own glass. “Or you can kiss me, Callahan.”
His voice was husky and warm. The sound of it made me turn my head to face him. There was humor in his eyes, but also a depth that I always saw there. He was my friend, maybe my dearest friend, and it was impossible to be afraid of him.
“Why would you complicate our friendship?” I whispered.
“Like it’s so simple now?” he countered.
I didn’t even know what that meant. But my brain was too scrambled just then to figure it out. Hartley and I regarded each other for a long moment, not speaking. Then he cupped my face with two hands, his touch so gentle that my heart ached just to feel it. And then the months of wishing for his kiss were too much for me. I closed my eyes, and then his lips were on mine. They were just as soft as I’d always imagined them to be — his perfect mouth pressing sweetly against me. His lips opened, parting my own, and I gasped with happiness.
I’d been kissed before, or so I thought. But Hartley’s kisses were an entirely new genre. His lips were soft and demanding in equal measure. The slow slide of his tongue against mine destroyed all conscious thought. Soon enough, Hartley grasped my melting body under the arms and pulled me up and over him. He swiveled his good leg onto the couch, his head reclining on the upholstered arm. I could feel his body under me — solid and warm — and it was divine. His big hands curved around my head, controlling the kiss. He took his time, his teeth teasing my lower lip, his tongue sweeping mine in long strokes. I didn’t want it to stop.
Ever.
In the background, the Princess Bride hurtled towards its exciting conclusion, but I could barely hear it. Hartley tasted like champagne and pure man. And the kisses were nothing like the sloppy, hurried ones I’d received in high school.
“Callahan,” he said finally, while I panted, short of oxygen.
“Mmm?”
“You’re kind of…rubbing yourself against me.”
Mortified, I pulled back. “Sorry.”
He adjusted his neck on the sofa’s arm. “Actually, I’m kind of loving it. But I don’t think you’d do that, unless you could feel it.”
“Oh,” I said.
Oh.
He grinned up at me. And then he ran one of his hands down my chest, between our bodies and into the waistband of my yoga pants.
“Hartley!” I yelped, grabbing his wrist.
His eyes locked on mine. “Don’t you want to know?”
“I just…” My breaths were coming too fast, and my chest suddenly felt tight. I pushed his hand away and took a deep breath.
“Callahan,” his voice was low and serious. “Have you done any…research on the topic?”
I shook my head.
His eyes widened. “But you’ve been worried about it. Maybe for nothing, right?”
I dropped my head to his shoulder and buried my face in his neck. And it killed me how good he smelled — like Hartley. But at very close range.
His hands stroked my hair, and even that made me unbearably happy. “No research at all?” he asked, and I heard the words echo through his chest. “No love for our friend Digby?”
I smiled then, hiding my face in the neckline of his tee. Because there was nobody else I’d spoken to about this. And it was the most embarrassing topic in the world.
“Really, Callahan?” he asked, not letting up. “You’re fearless about everything else. You take your P.T. like a Marine, you tell the hospital nurses where to shove it. You call me on my own bullshit all day long. And here’s one small thing you can figure out…”
I raised my head. “It’s not a small thing,” I corrected.
He turned his chin a few degrees in my direction, and once again our faces were a hair’s breadth apart. “I beg your pardon,” he rumbled. And then he pressed his lips against mine and moved his tongue into my mouth. The kiss was long and slow, and if I could have felt my knees properly, they would have been absolutely liquefied.
But then the sound of voices in the hallway ruined it for me. Stiffening, I felt suddenly vulnerable, lying here in Hartley’s arms, my fragile ego laid bare for all the world to see. “Anyone could walk in,” I whispered.