“I’m sorry?” she murmured.
“I asked if you’ve ever gone over there before?”
“I’ve thought about it. But … no.”
“So we have a plan.”
He put the dish in her rack, and the sight of it next to her soup mug seemed intimate. Like two people lying in bed.
“You have my number in your phone,” he said. “You can always call me. Meanwhile, I’ll be like a junkyard dog, guarding everything out there.”
She had to smile at that. “I feel like I’m cursing you with all this.”
“You’re not. I’m a grown-ass man. If I didn’t want to deal with it, I wouldn’t be on your property with my tent pitched and sleeping bag unrolled.”
“You’re very kind.”
He leaned back against the lip of the sink and crossed his arms over his massive chest. “I’m not sure that’s the word.”
“Then what would you suggest?”
“I don’t know.”
Getting to her feet, she was done pretending she was drinking her lukewarm Earl Grey. “Maybe it’ll come to you.”
As she tried to head for the sink, he stayed where he was … so she ended up stopping in front of him.
And that was when the change in the air happened.
When he didn’t move and neither did she, the world condensed into the charged space between their bodies, a shimmering electricity flaring. Sizzling. Heating.
“Here,” he murmured. “Give me that and I’ll wash it for you.”
Lydia had no idea what he’d said. But when he put out his hand, she placed her mug in his palm—and didn’t let it go.
“What else do you want me to do for you?” he asked in a low voice.
“Nothing.”
“Liar.” But there was no censure in his tone. “Tell me what you want, Lydia. It’s just the two of us here. Behind drawn curtains. No eyes upon anything.”
Her voice deepened as well, a husky note threading through her words. “You make it sound like if there are no witnesses, the tree makes no sound when it falls.”
“Impossible question to answer, isn’t it.”
“Still hits the ground hard, though.”
“I can’t disagree with that.”
What are you doing? Lydia asked herself as she stared into his eyes.
“Just so you know, Lydia, I don’t overthink things.” He reached up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I take them as they come. Sometimes, that’s the only way to be free on this earth.”
“I’m not right in the head.”
“Who is?” he whispered as he leaned down and put his mouth right by her ear. “Life is short. We need to do what we can to live while we’re here.”
God, the smell of him.
Lydia breathed in. And then didn’t want to exhale. The fact that she wanted something of him inside of her, even if it was only his scent, seemed crazy.
“I’m not like this,” she protested.
“Like what?”
As Lydia stared up into his face, they both knew what she wanted. What she needed. Still, she kept them on the edge for a heartbeat or two.
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“Good,” he growled.
When he lowered his head, there was a rumble of satisfaction in his chest—and then she wasn’t hearing anything. Thinking anything. Worried about anything.
As big and strong as he was, his lips were soft against her own. Gentle, too, as if he knew she wanted to be handled with care—not because she didn’t want him, but because she did. Too much. And God, there were more reasons to pull away than get close to him, except there was no denying the chemistry. The connection. The heat.