“If you’re still up for a Twilight Zone marathon, I am too.”
She was up for so, so much more, and hopefully he was as well. “Do you have popcorn?”
Indeed he did, explaining it was the girls’ favorite snack. Outside, the rain still fell and the thunder still rumbled, but the two of them moved easily around Jared’s kitchen, fixing drinks and food. She had the unwelcome thought that she was getting far, far too comfortable here, but it felt so nice when she scarcely felt comfortable in her own home.
“Which one should we watch?” he asked as they settled with their couch picnic. He handed Starla the remote, and she navigated to the episode list on Netflix.
“Let’s see… There’s ‘A Stop at Willoughby,’ that’s a good one.”
“Ooh, ‘The Purple Testament.’ Isn’t that the one where the soldier sees a glow on the faces of other soldiers who are about to die?”
“That’s a good one too.” She selected it and hit Play, pleased that he knew his Twilight Zone episodes as the unmistakable theme music filled the room. Jared pulled the blanket over the both of them, and she snuggled into his chest as if she belonged there, feeling his heart thump slow and steady, loving the weight of his arm around her. His hand settled in the curve of her waist, just where the hem of her shirt touched her jeans, just where she could imagine his fingers slipping between the articles of clothing to find bare skin. But his fingers stayed where they were, on top of her clothes, maddening her.
But it was also nice. How often had she found herself around a guy whose primary objective wasn’t to get into her pants? Except for her male friends, probably never. When she started something with a man, she knew where it was headed. Every single time. To bed. Maybe once, maybe a few times, but if it advanced more than that, a catastrophic breakup was sure to follow. Or stalking, if the last few weeks were any indication. With Jared, she had no such expectations. A million possibilities waited to be explored. It excited her and terrified her at the same time. As he’d asked her the night he’d returned her purse: Could she handle it? Could she fit into his life?
Fuck it. She didn’t even care. She only knew that here, right under his jaw, a mere inch from her nose, he smelled like heaven, and if she didn’t kiss him again soon, she was going to die.
Her blood thickened in her veins as she shifted closer, inhaling him before trailing her lips along the bearded line of his jaw. Jared released a shuddering breath, his fingers tightening on her waist. Her biggest fear was that he’d push her away, but he didn’t. Tilting his chin upward, he gave her easier access, and she took it. Every muscle in his powerful body tensed as her lips left teasing kisses up to his ear, his damp hair tickling her nose with scent and sensation.
Chapter Thirteen
She felt so good, and Jesus, it had been so long. When his marriage had crumbled, yeah, he’d sworn off. He’d told himself the last thing he needed was another woman to hurt, to disappoint, to damage. He and his ex-wife had been hot together at first, but soon enough he’d realized it for what it was: the novelty of someone new. Starla had guessed right; Macy was his one and only for so many years that when Shelly had come along, it was as if she breathed new life into him. But eventually it wore off. It left him cold.
The woman in his arms now, though… He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to her. Starla’s lips were so soft. There was something tentative and vulnerable about her now, and he hadn’t expected that. He’d reclined on the couch, taking her with him so that she lay atop him, their legs in a tangle and their mouths taking turns exploring each other…bare throats, sensitive earlobes. On the TV, the show played on. Outside? thunder rumbled and rain pelted the metal roof of his porch. Even while he’d been out there battling the storm to get his animals to safety, he’d been thinking of her. While she’d been standing in the kitchen with his dad and Jack, looking flustered and damn near bashful, he’d wanted her so bad he could hardly concentrate on anything but the way her lips touched her coffee mug.
Now those lips were touching him. One of his thighs slipped between hers. The almost catlike way she undulated against him was nearly his undoing, but she pulled away to look at him, eyes dark with need. He felt that same need flickering through his body like heat lightning. Hotter and brighter than anything happening outside these walls. “I promise I haven’t had too much to drink,” she said. “Even if I had, I would remember this.”