He shrugged before turning back to the stove. “I’m just saying, I have a great memory and an even better imagination.”
The man was incorrigible.
And funny.
And kind.
Don’t forget sexy as hell and fan-fucking-tastic in bed.
She sighed again, rolled her eyes and continued cutting up the vegetables.
“So, when am I going to get to take you out on a proper date?” he asked, not bothering to turn back around. He stepped to the side and opening up a cupboard to grab some bowls. “I meant what I said before. If you want this to be casual and meaningless, I can do that. But something tells me you’re not really into that.” He tossed another look over his shoulder at her, pinning her with a heated gaze, and for some reason, the slight crook to his nose made him look dangerously handsome at the moment. “At least not for the long term,” he finished. “You want more.”
Gulp.
“And I would like to be more.” He began scooping the mac and cheese into the bowls. “I would like to be a lot more. Do a lot more—with you.” With two filled bowls, he turned around and made his way toward the kitchen table, but before he got there, he stopped just behind her. “Do you want more, Eva?” His warm breath against her neck had her fighting the urge to shiver. But she couldn’t shiver. A reaction like that would only feed into his game. She wanted to make him work for it.
Whatever it was.
“Hmm, Eva. Just Eva. Do you want more?”
Hell, yes, she wanted more. She wanted all of it.
She gulped again.
“I want more, Scott,” she whispered, not ready to turn around.
She didn’t have to see him to know he was smiling. Warm lips landed on her neck, and she lost the battle with her urges and allowed her eyes to flutter shut.
“We’ll start slow,” he murmured, peppering more kisses along the back of her shoulders to the other side of her neck. “First, tell me your last name, your favorite color, and one secret about yourself hardly anyone else knows. Then we’ll decide how much more we can handle.”
“Marchand,” she breathed. “Eva Danielle Marchand. I went back to my maiden name.”
“Eva Marchand. Very French.” His tongue danced just below her ear. “I like it.”
“Green. Like the trees and the grass and all the plants. It’s the color of Earth, of life, of all things new.”
“And the color of your amazing eyes.”
The warmth of him behind her had her entire body blushing. Need pooled in her belly, and a rush of wetness coated her panties. She was practically breathless, yet she hadn’t moved an inch.
“When I was fourteen, I skipped school, caught the bus to Olympia and went to listen to Allison DeWitt speak at the library.” She hadn’t told a soul—besides Celeste—that she’d done that. Allison DeWitt was her all-time favorite author, and of course, she was speaking at a library on a school day and Eva’s parents had to work, so how could she go?
Well, she made it happen. She even got Allison’s autograph and, with her old Polaroid camera, a picture of her with the famous fantasy author. That picture still sat in her jewelry box—a reminder of when she had guts—when she went after what she wanted, no matter the cost.
Todd had eviscerated those guts, had destroyed her tenacity and drive.
But she was getting it all back. It wouldn’t come overnight, but since leaving him, since filing for the restraining order, since filing for divorce and moving out on her own with the kids, she felt a million times stronger. She would be that school-skipping, tenacious woman again one day. She just had to give herself time.
“I love her books.” Scott’s voice was just a whisper against her heated skin. “Particularly the Sapphire Omen Series.”
She spun around.
Scott backed up and lifted his hands in the air, the bowls of mac and cheese still in his grasp. His mouth opened in surprise, and his brows shot up into his hairline. “Whoa, whoa! Did I say something wrong?”
She glanced to where his eyes kept darting. She still had the big chopping knife in her hand.
Whoops!
Giggling awkwardly, she gently set it down on the counter, then faced him again. “Sorry. I was just so surprised to hear that someone else likes Allison DeWitt books.”
He dropped his hands, and his face relaxed. Then he went about setting the bowls down on the table, only to return to the stove and begin dishing up more. “Are you kidding me? I’m a huge fan. Have been since I was a teenager. I live for her books. I can’t believe you saw her speak. I tried to go see her last time she was in Seattle, but Katrin … ” He turned back around with two more steaming bowls. “Anyway, I tried to go see her, but apparently my wants aren’t a real thing.” His words were just as tight as his body language.
“I love that you love her books,” Eva went on, piling all the chopped veggies onto a plate, then carrying them over to the table. “What’s your favorite of hers?”
“Would have to be Indigo Sacrifice in the Sapphire Omen Series. Yours?”
She grinned. “Same.”
“Well, then, we’ll have loads to talk about on our date, won’t we? Have you pre-ordered her new book?”
Biting her lip, she nodded. “I have.”
He set the bowls on the table, then returned once more to the oven. “You still haven’t answered my first question though.”
“Which was?”
He approached her with the final bowl of heaping mac and cheese. “When are you going to let me take you out on a proper date?”
Butterflies took flight in her belly from the way he was looking at her—heated, dangerous, demanding. All things that normally would have been huge triggers for her, but from Scott, not so much. If anything, she was intrigued rather than ready to flee. Enticed, not turned off. Aroused not repulsed.
They were toe to toe now, the feel of his warm body invading her personal space enough to make her brain grow a little fuzzy. Reaching behind her, he placed the bowl on the table, but he didn’t pull his hand away. He let it rest on her hip, and he tugged her into his body until there wasn’t even room for air between them.
“Our brains are wired for connection,” he said softly, bringing his other hand up next to her face and tucking a stray strand behind her ear. She closed her eyes at the welcome gentleness of his touch. “Our brains are wired for connection. As humans, we actively seek other humans. We seek intimacy and relationships. Partners.” His large, warm palm cupped her cheek, and he tilted his head down until they were nose to nose. “But trauma rewires our brains for protection. We become guarded and wary, always fearful of more pain, more heartache.”
Her chest lifted and fell at an alarming rate, and her eyes flew open, but what stared back at her didn’t scare her an ounce. What gazed down at her, so close she was going cross-eyed, was an intense understanding. Patience and kindness. An ache formed inside her chest at the rush of emotions she felt for this man—a man she hardly knew.
“I know that it can be tough for wounded people to have healthy, meaningful relationships, but I want you to know, Eva, I have no intention of hurting you. We can take this as fast or as slow as you need to. You’re setting the pace, not me.”