Putting my hands on my hips, I looked around again. “I don’t know if I love it, but it definitely has potential.”
Cynthia excused herself and went outside to take a phone call. I decided to wander through the house again. See if I could imagine Dad living here.
There was more space than he had now, considering he couldn’t use his second story. And it was a lot bigger than my apartment.
I wondered what it would be like to walk into a house and know you could just buy it. And not even for yourself.
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Cox asked.
“Nothing. I don’t want to make it weird.”
“Well, now I really need to know,” he said with a grin.
“It’s just amazing to me that you can buy someone a house and it doesn’t seem like it’s a big deal. I’ve worked for Mr. Calloway long enough, I should be used to being around someone wealthy. But it’s still so foreign.”
He put his hands in his pockets and took a few steps deeper into the room. “Sometimes it’s still foreign to me, too.”
“Really?”
“I didn’t grow up with money. Most of my life, we were scraping along the bottom end of poor, just shy of destitute.”
“I suppose you wouldn’t have been living on Ashford Street back then if your family had been swimming in money.”
“No, indeed. And that was one of the nicer places we lived.”
I gazed at him. Ashford Street hadn’t been a very nice place. Small, tired houses with saggy porches and weeds in the yards. It had been a low point in my childhood. A time when Dad had been out of work for a while and things had been rough. He’d shielded me from the worst of that, never letting on how hard it was to make ends meet. But it hadn’t been the sort of neighborhood where people lived when they were thriving.
“You’ve come a long way since then.”
“That I have. On the day I turned eighteen, I vowed to my mama that I’d make something of myself so I could take care of her. And that’s exactly what I did.”
There was something in his voice when he talked about his mom. A hint of affection—of real emotion. It felt like getting a peek at the man behind the bravado.
“So it wasn’t all about driving fancy cars?” I teased.
He grinned. “No, the fancy cars are just a bonus.”
“Well, this house is definitely a good option. What’s our next step?”
“I say we keep looking but keep this one in mind.”
“Sounds good.”
We went outside and Cynthia locked up. Cox spoke with her for a few minutes, then she said goodbye and left.
I started toward Cox’s car, but my toe snagged on something—or maybe it was nothing—and I pitched forward. In an attempt to keep myself from falling flat on my face, I grabbed for Cox’s arm, right as he reached out to help steady me. Which meant his arm wasn’t where I’d thought it would be.
I missed, then overcorrected on the way down, smacking him in the face with the back of my hand. My knees hit the ground first, then my left elbow, scraping across the concrete.
My chin hit last. Scrape.
Normally if I fell, I was quick to reassure any bystanders that I was fine and I’d jump to my feet. This time, I stayed facedown on the pavement, wincing at all the places that stung.
Before I could take another breath, Cox was crouching next to me. “Sugar, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, although I didn’t really mean it. My elbow hurt and I had a feeling I’d scraped my chin, which was going to show. “I’m not injured.”
“Like hell you’re not.” He gently helped me up, then took my hand and led me to his car. “Let me see.”
He opened the passenger door and I gingerly lowered myself onto the seat, still facing him. He crouched down again so he was eye level and brushed my hair back, tucking it behind my ear.
“Did I hit you?” I asked.
“You got me on the way down, but I’m fine.” He touched my chin and tilted my face. “Oh, honey.”
“Is it bleeding?”
“Not here.” He checked my right arm—it was okay—then my left. “This elbow’s a bit scraped up, but you’re not bleeding. Where else does it hurt?”
I glanced down at my legs. There was a rip in my jeans that hadn’t been there before. “I think I scraped my knees a little.”
He carefully peeked under the torn fabric. “I don’t see any blood here, either.”
Despite myself, a few tears beaded at the corner of my eyes and broke free to run down my cheeks. I felt so stupid. Who still scraped up their elbows and knees—and freaking chin—when they were in their thirties? Dad had always told me I’d grow out of my clumsiness, but I never had.
Cox swiped the tears away with his thumb. His expression was sympathetic, but not pitying. Almost tender. He took my arm and leaned in to kiss my elbow, just above the scrape. “Better?”
I nodded. He was awfully cute when he did that.
He kissed it again and the feel of his lips on my skin overpowered the sting. His eyes met mine as he turned my arm over and placed a soft kiss on the inside of my elbow. Then another on the inside of my wrist.
The sudden urge to run my fingers through his hair made my fingers twitch.
He leaned closer and touched my jaw again. My breath caught in my throat. He was so close, I could smell his cologne. The scent triggered a memory of his arms wrapped around me, my face buried in his neck. Something from Vegas? Probably, but I couldn’t place it in time. It was more of a feeling than a concrete memory.
The feeling of being in his arms.
His lips touched my chin, slightly to the left of where I’d hurt myself. Then he tilted my face and kissed me again on the other side. Gently, ever so gently. Just a soft brush of his lips against my skin.
“Better?” he asked again, his voice quiet, his eyes on mine.
“Yes, thanks. I’m okay. It’s mostly my pride.”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a grin and he cupped my chin. His lips touched mine in a kiss that was firm but rather chaste. Like he was planning to plant a quick one on me, hardly a kiss at all.
Except once he was there, he didn’t pull away. His mouth softened and he tilted his head. I felt his deep intake of breath, like he was filling his lungs with me, and his fingers gently trailed through my hair.
My eyes were shut, although I didn’t remember closing them, and the tension melted from my back and shoulders. The sting of my scrapes forgotten, all I could feel were Cox’s lips on mine. His mouth moving, caressing. The slow sweep of his tongue. His hand resting on my thigh, his grip tightening.
I parted my lips and his tongue brushed mine. Tingles raced down my spine and my insides turned to liquid. He was dangerously good at this. Warmth bloomed between my legs as he took the kiss deeper, delving his tongue into my mouth.
This wasn’t kissing it better. This was just kissing.
Deep, passionate kissing.
And god it felt good.
We slowly separated and my eyes fluttered open. I was dazed—dizzy, even. It was a good thing I wasn’t standing because I probably would have fallen on my face again.
Cox licked his lips and something about the way he did that, like he was savoring the taste of me, was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.