Jordan was careful not to hold the shorts or the shirt she had chosen in front of her. She let them both hang at her sides. The tank top was silky and clingy and without a bra her nipples were prominent behind the pale pink fabric.
His eyes traveled over her. Slowly. She felt her scalp tingle, her nipples tighten, her stomach clench, and her inner muscles tighten.
“I thought you’d left for school.”
“I thought you’d still be in bed.”
They spoke at the same time. Jordan stopped and smiled. Her eyes went to the mug he was holding in one hand and what looked like a garment in the other.
“I brought you coffee and clothes.” He held up what turned out to be a cherry red sundress with tiny white dots on the bed. He cleared his throat. “Charlie brought this over.”
Now it seemed he was trying to avoid looking at her completely. She frowned. “That was nice of her.”
“Yeah, so I should get going. To school. Need to get some stuff done.”
“You look hot,” she told him, ignoring his excuses. It was early. He didn’t need to be at school quite yet.
His gaze came up to hers. “What?”
She smiled. “You know the teacher look does it for me.”
She’d shared about her crush on their sociology professor their freshman year. Definitely the distinguished-older-man-in-glasses-and-in-charge was her type.
Fletcher was dressed in khakis and a dark green button down shirt, brown dress shoes—scuffed but still dress shoes—and he was wearing his glasses.
What could she say? The dress-shirt-and-glasses-geeky-about-something guys were her real turn-ons.
He didn’t wear his glasses all the time and she loved when he did. They got in his way when he was out on the bayou, helping Zeke with construction projects, or playing sports, but he wore them when he was at school because he needed them mostly for reading.
He cleared his throat again. “Yeah, I didn’t need to know what you are willing to do for an A in sociology.”
She laughed softly. “That was two a.m. and I was delirious from studying for a test I was certain I was going to fail. I didn’t really mean that.”
He gave her a look. “You meant it sixty percent.”
She thought about that. Then grinned. “Maybe forty percent.”
Their sociology professor had been in his fifties. But he had been very handsome and the gray at his temples had been sexy and he’d had a great sense of humor. She’d ended up with an A in that class without needing any “extra credit”, of course. She would never have done anything immoral for a grade, but she’d enjoyed teasing Fletcher about it.
Now that she gave it more thought, Fletcher had reacted with jealousy and she’d kind of liked that. That was weird. She hadn’t thought about it much then, but it was clear looking back that had been why the joke had been fun. Immature, for sure, but fun.
“Just realizing that I can play out my hot teacher fantasies all the time now,” she said stepping even closer. “I have my very own hot teacher twenty-four-seven now.”
Fletcher’s jaw tightened. Then he cleared his throat. “I need to get going.”
She was half naked, two feet from the bed, and teasing about hot teacher fantasies, and he was ready to head out?
She stepped even closer and he suddenly thrust the coffee mug out. Straight out. As in arm-fully-extended as if it would fend her off. Some of the coffee even sloshed over the rim. What the hell?
“Here.”
Fletcher was uncomfortable having a woman in his bedroom in the morning. But this was her. This was the first morning of many to come.
She took the mug and the dress from him, but as soon as he let go, he started backing toward the door.
“So…see you la—”
“Fletcher.”
He stopped. “Yeah?” But now he was looking at the window past her shoulder.
She set the mug on the bedside table and tossed the dress on the bed.
“You can’t leave without kissing me goodbye.”
He didn’t move. In fact he went completely still. “What?”
“Shouldn’t husbands kiss their wives goodbye when they leave?”
He was looking at her now. Their gazes were locked, and she could see emotions swirling in his. What was going on? He seemed to be trying to resist her. But that was ridiculous. Was he upset about last night? He would have a right to be.
“I’m sorry about last night,” she told him. She stepped closer and lifted a hand to rest on his chest.
He stayed completely frozen, but she could feel his heart hammering under her palm. “For what?”
“I completely ruined our wedding night. I should never have started playing darts with Zander. We both know how that always ends.”
In fact, Fletcher probably should’ve stopped her when she and Zander went to get the darts. But she was grown up. He didn’t need to babysit her. Her head throbbed and she amended that to he shouldn’t need to babysit her.
“You didn’t ruin anything. It’s fine. I’m not mad.”
She believed him, actually. He didn’t seem mad. And this was Fletcher. He would tell her if he was mad. But why did he seem so uncomfortable? If this really was about feeling awkward the morning after, he was going to need to get over that. Plus, it wasn’t really the morning after anything, other than sleeping.
Then a terrible thought occurred to her. “Oh God, did I do something embarrassing last night? Did I talk in my sleep? Or did I karaoke? Or did I puke on the way home in the car? Or in here?” She spun, looking around the room.
Fletcher’s hand landed on hers on his chest. “No. None of that. You played darts, you let Zander win, you came over, sat in my lap, and fell asleep on my shoulder. I carried you to the truck, carried you into the house and up here, and put you to bed.”
She winced. “I’m sorry.” Then she glanced down. “Did you undress me?”
“Well, your pants. I pulled your bra off with your shirt on, the way you showed me in college.”
Jordan grinned. She’d showed him the trick women knew for getting bras off without fully undressing by unhooking and then pulling the straps off through the sleeves. “I’m impressed you remembered that.”
His thumb was stroking over the back of her hand now, and Jordan moved in close again.
“I guess a wife can kiss her husband goodbye.” She ran her other hand up his neck to the back of his head, slipping her fingers into his hair, and pulling his head down.
He didn’t resist. He let her pull him into the kiss. She touched her lips to his, softly at first. She probably should let him go with a simple kiss.
But she couldn’t.
He smelled so good. Laundry detergent, soap, coffee, and the cologne from the bathroom.
She sighed and opened her mouth slightly. She wanted more and she pressed closer, lifting on tiptoe.
It took about three seconds, but Fletcher finally gave a soft groan and cupped the back of her head as he deepened the kiss. His mouth opened and he licked along her bottom lip. Heat immediately shot through her and she met the stroke of his tongue with her own.
The ibuprofen or the endorphins or both were kicking in it seemed because she was feeling no pain. She started walking backward, pulling him with her. He nearly stepped on her foot and with a frustrated growl, scooped his hands under her ass and lifted her. His big palms on her mostly bare butt sent licks of fire along her limbs. She wrapped her legs around him and he carried her to the bed. He lowered her, following her down, settling deliciously between her thighs as he pressed her into the mattress.