I didn’t have to worry about easing into it, because Garrick had no qualms about pulling me to him. My head fit perfectly onto the curve of his shoulder.
“Cade seems like a reasonable guy. I’m sure after a while to process everything, he’ll be better.”
I nodded, hoping he was right, but not feeling confident. Cade was reasonable. Trouble was… reason probably told him to stay the hell away from me if he didn’t want his heart stomped on. And maybe that would be for the best.
He deserved someone better.
“All right,” Garrick said. “Enough about that. I don’t like that sad look on your face. Unfortunately our options for the evening are limited, since we can’t actually go anywhere. So how about a movie?”
I pulled a smile onto my face. When he smiled back it took less effort to hold it there. “A movie sounds good.”
He picked something funny, probably in an effort to cheer me up. Then he flicked off the lights, and joined me again on the couch. As the opening credits began, He leaned back, pulling me with him. He was stretched out on his back, and I was on my side, fitted between him and the back of the couch. I hesitated a moment before laying my head against his chest.
I tried to watch the movie, I really did, but it was hard to concentrate with his steady, even breaths ruffling my hair, and his hand tracing up and down my spine. It was somewhere between ticklish and seductive. I was hyper aware of the way every once and a while, his finger would continue a little farther down my back, until he barely touched the stretch of skin between the bottom of my shirt and the top of my shorts. He would stay there for only the barest of seconds before returning up my back. Then his finger danced up to the sensitive skin at the back of my neck, and I had to hold back a moan. I glanced up at him quickly, but he was focused on the movie, completely unaware of the madness he was driving me to.
Finally, I decided it was time for him to get a dose of what I was feeling. I uncurled the fist I had resting on his chest, pressing my fingertips ever so slightly into his chest. I started by tracing the abstract design on his t-shirt, something from a band, I think. But once I’d done that I kept trailing my hands across his chest, across the curve of one pec, down the sternum to his ridged stomach, back up his chest to the muscles stretching from his shoulder to his bicep. When my hand took one of his moves, barely tracing along the hem of his t-shirt, his hand on my back stilled.
Somehow, the stillness set me even more on edge.
Feeling a little brave, I went back to the hem, pushing my fingers up and under his shirt, using my fingernails to draw the barest of touches across his skin. The hand on my back moved, sliding up past my neck and into my hair. I flattened my hand, pressing my palm against his warm skin. The hand in my hair tightened, not enough to hurt, but just enough so that he could use it to tilt my head backward slightly.
He gazed at me, no trace of teasing grin, his blue eyes appearing black in the darkened room. His eyes danced around my face, flicking most frequently between my eyes and my lips. The anticipation was killing me, and I dug my fingers into his skin. His breathing wasn’t so steady anymore, but he still only looked at me. I licked my lips, and his gaze stayed there longer, so long that heat was pooling between my legs just because of the anticipation alone, and I squirmed trying to relieve the pressure.
When I lifted one of my legs, curling it around his own, finally, he took action.
The hand in my hair pulled me forward, and he met me halfway.
All of the anticipation of the last ten minutes focused into the point where our lips met. The connection was too small to bring to mind fireworks, but it was something close, like the excitement of holding a sparkler— the rush of feeling the sparks creep closer to your hand.
His mouth stayed closed, and even though I’d tasted him several times before, the mystery was killing me.
It felt like a first kiss.
He pulled back, and pressed his forehead against mine.
“Thank you,” he said.
Thank you? Was that like a thanks, but no thanks? Thanks, but I’m watching a movie, leave me alone?
“For?”
“For giving this a chance. I know you were, probably are, afraid. But you’ve made my life immensely better already.”
I don’t know if it was being an actor that made him so honest, so unafraid of being vulnerable, or if it was just who he was. I wished I could do the same, but that wasn’t who I was.
“Can I ask you a question?”
His hand in my hair trailed across my jaw.
“Of course,” he answered.
“Why did you take this job? Not that I’m not glad you are here, but you said yourself you were miserable.”