“Then what’s the problem?”
My current problem is the fact he’s on top of me. Close enough where I catch the alluring scent of his woodsy cologne. It’s my favorite of his and I realize I’m arching toward him, drawing in a shuddering breath.
Collapsing back to the couch, I blow out a breath. If only that breath could expel my attraction to him. He’s being ridiculously silly, with all of these touches and looks and the way his rock-hard body hovers over me. One foot is firmly planted on the floor, one hand at the back of my couch. His knee pressed to my hip and his other hand on the cushion by my head.
He’s amused, based on the tilt of his head and that cocksure grin of his.
“Klaus. Sleep in the same bed.”
“I heard you. We can do that.”
“No. We can’t.”
“As long as you don’t kick or snore or steal covers, we totally can. Scoot over.”
I have nowhere to go. If I roll, I end up on my cream, tufted rug. Not that it’s uncomfortable. But this whole conversation is.
“You’re losing your mind.”
His grin is infectious. My own threatens to break free.
“I’m not.” He rolls me to my side. I curl a hand around the couch cushion so I don’t face plant on the floor while he shoves his body behind me. His chest, so warm and exceptionally muscled, is now pressed to my back. His hand falls over my hips to my stomach.
And his cheek presses against my temple.
He feels so damn good. Or at least he would, if it was possible for me to relax into it. As it is, my knuckles ache from gripping the couch cushion and my chest has turned to a chunk of cement.
I can’t breathe with him like this! All pressed up against me and legs tangled together.
This does not feel friendly.
It feels like heaven.
“Relax. See, we can sleep. We can snuggle just fine, too.”
His breath skitters along my cheek to my ear. It does crazy things to the tops of my thighs where a heat is starting to throb. I’m powerless to prevent my physical reaction to him.
“We’ll probably have to hold hands, I would imagine.” The hand at my stomach leaves, finds mine clutching the couch. Slowly, he pries my fingers from their position and entwines mine with his.
I might pass out. What is he doing?
“You also have to breathe.” He chuckles, that low, sexy rumble.
I squeeze my eyes closed. He’s right. Breathing is good for me. “Maybe I didn’t think this through.”
“Hmm. I think we’re doing okay.”
He’s so nonchalant about this. I want to turn to him, see his face. See if he’s as unaffected by this as he sounds, but I don’t. I’m a coward.
What would I do if he’s actually not?
“And kiss once or twice to really sell it. What do you think?”
“Klaus—”
“What? Is it my breath?”
No. It’s the racing of my heart and the pulse of heat at the crease of my thighs.
Undeterred, he continues. “We should probably practice.”
Before I can protest, or throw myself at him—whichever—he’s shifting his body until once again he’s over me. Gracious. The feel of him behind me was bad enough.
This? Gaping up at him like a fish out of water, too scared to ask what he’s doing…
Well—this is madness.
He’s lost his mind. Maybe my Moroccan food poisoned him. Made him go insane.
“I don’t think—”
“Kiss me, Jilly-Bean.”
“But it’s not—”
Necessary.
I don’t get to finish.
Klaus’s perfect, full and warm lips—oh, they are so warm—are pressed to mine, shutting up my protestations and igniting a fire inside me.
He doesn’t stop at our lips pressed together, oh no, Klaus teases, tantalizes. He uses his tongue and as soon as I get that taste of him on my lips, my mouth opens. He doesn’t hesitate to slide inside, and oh dear sweet heavens, this is the best kiss I’ve ever had and the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.
My hands, on their own volition, slide up Klaus’s rock-hard, trembling body and find his hair.
Oh yes. I’ve wanted this for months.
What is happening right now?
Who cares! Klaus is kissing me and we’re practically making out on my couch. I am milking this for every beautiful, fantasy-inducing moment this is going to create.
“Oh.” I make a sound against his mouth, roll my hips, and just when I think things are getting even hotter, he’s gone.
Vanished.
My eyes fly open and there’s Klaus, still on the couch, no longer touching me. He swipes his bottom lip with his thumb and just like that, the taste of me is gone from him.
His chest heaves like he’s just finished a practice involving way too many laps around the rink and his cheeks are flushed.
“Yeah. I think we can sell it,” he says and shoves off the couch. Are my ears deceiving me or does he seem completely unaffected?
I still feel like the ground is shaking.
How absolutely mortifying.
“I should probably get home though. Early workouts again tomorrow. You good?”
Holding out his hand, I ignore the tremble in my palm as I slide it into his.
“Jillian.”
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
I blink. Of course I’m not okay! My throat is scratchy, my breath still ragged. My gosh, it’s going to take hours. Days. Possibly weeks to forget this and it was a kiss. “Yeah. I’m good.”
I swear I see a hint of some emotion, some indication he has some reaction to kissing me, but then he blinks and it’s gone. He pulls me to my feet and drags me to the door.
There, he slides his wallet and phone into his pocket and slips into his leather sandals.
His hair hides his eyes, but I take in the deepened color on his cheekbones. The slightly swollen look of his glistening lips… from that kiss.
“Lock up behind me, right?”
“Of course. And um… thanks. I think.”
“No worries.” He brushes his lips at my forehead. “We’ve got this. Talk soon, okay?”
“‘Night.”
My knees stay steady until he’s down the narrow walkway to the street and climbing into his truck. I close the door, wait until he pulls away, and then collapse against my front door.
What in the world happened tonight?
4
Klaus
I didn’t think this plan through. Not for one single second.
Do I regret kissing Jillian?
No way in hell. That was the best damn kiss I’d ever had, and it wasn’t because she knows how to kiss. It’s because of the way her body felt pressed to mine, how easy it was to lose myself in it. How one small shift of my hips would have shown her how entirely into it I was.
And I almost did. Until that needy, hungry sound left her mouth. Her gasp was a bucket of ice water on me, immediately dumping me back into the present.
This is Jillian.
My friend.
I have no idea if she feels the same way about me, despite it being obvious how much she liked it, too. The first time I have her, I’m not going to go from a kiss to screwing her on her sofa. Days later and on my way to pick her up for the weekend, I’m getting hard all over again. The mere memory of how good she felt curled in my arms, tense as a two-by-four, is something I won’t only never forget.