Sounded like there were some unresolved issues. “Has he apologized?”
“For breaking my wrist? Yeah, he feels terrible.”
Bast had hinted that Reid was a bully to Bast when they were kids. His behavior in defending her was starting to make more sense. She supposed she should be glad to be the beneficiary of that protective streak, but she hated that it might remind him of a painful period in his life.
She moved closer and lay a hand on his arm. “Sounds like the feelings of hurt and resentment remain, about the wrist injury and some things from your childhood. And the fact it coincided with a rise in his fortunes and a dip in yours has got to be tough.” If she recalled correctly, Bast was supposed to head to the Olympics on the Team Canada roster but missed out. Reid went in his place and came home with the gold. Ouch.
“I forgave him. For everything.”
“Okay.”
He leveled a serious gaze at her, and for a moment, she wondered if he’d rebuff her efforts to dig deeper. When he spoke, it was measured.
“It’s been a rough year for me, but I don’t want Reid to feel guilty about it. He’s got everything he ever wanted, and me whining about my injury is just going to bring him down.”
“That’s generous of you. But for your own well-being, you might want to be more open with him instead of bottling it up.”
“There you go being all wise again.” He passed a glass to her, then picked up his own. “To the Great Unfestering.”
“Ugh, sounds awful, but let me try this wine and—hmm, this is good!” She took another sip. “To the Great Unfestering. May we all feel so unburdened.”
“Okay, serious talk out of the way. Now for the bang-fest!” He winked at her and grabbed the remote.
Damn. She would have to keep her mouth full of popcorn and try not to get turned on.
“So, could you sit over here?” He patted the seat on the other side of him.
“Er, okay.” She moved around him, her legs brushing against his, and took a seat.
“Just need you closer to the best arm so I can try my sneaky make-a-pass move.” He stretched his right arm over her head and gave a fake yawn. When the arm came down again, it was along the top-edge of the sofa behind her.
“Smooth,” she said, enjoying this new vibe between them. He was so easy to be around when he wasn’t spitting mad at her. “But telling me about your move kind of defeats the purpose of the sneakiness, doesn’t it?”
“Just keeping you in the loop, sweetheart. I’m all about the consent.” He pressed play and put the remote down on the coffee table.
Oh, right, the movie. The sexy movie.
She could handle this. After all, she’d had real-life almost-sex with the guy beside her, and she handled that like a boss. Told him how good she felt, how hot it was. Nothing had to happen here. Once they dug themselves out or the snow thawed—whichever came first—they could move on with their lives, no fuss nor muss. She would take some lovely memories with her …
She shifted on the sofa, and to cover, she reached for her wine and took a healthy gulp just as Bast made a funny noise in his throat.
“What?”
“This guy is the worst.”
“He is?” She knew he was—the guy was a Mafioso kidnapper with a very violent streak who was about to do any number of illegal things to the heroine in the name of obsession—but she wanted to hear Bast’s opinion.
“That ‘baby girl’ business is ridiculous. And this dialogue is terrible.”
Agreed. Bast grabbed some popcorn and munched on it.
Twenty minutes later, they’d come to some seriously sexy shower business.
“You okay?”
She turned to find him staring at her. The wine was gone, the popcorn reduced by 90%, and Pepper was tensely waiting for Laura to realize just how much trouble she was in.
Kind of like the heroine in this room.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Would you rather we didn’t watch this?”
She chuckled nervously. “It is kind of stupid.”
“But sexy.”
“But sexy.”
He smiled. “Only you don’t want sexy right now, do you?” He was staring at her with serious intent.
“I-I wouldn’t say that.”
“It’s just you’re sitting so stiffly over there, and I’d much rather you were sitting stiffly over here.”
She edged closer, then realized she was quite close already. Any more and she’d be on top of him.
“Yeah, I can’t stop thinking of us either,” he murmured. “Come here.”
Us. Why did that sound so good?
Her breathing had picked up, and she realized that it was always like this around him. This effect he had on her was electrifying.
“Bast—”
“Just want to hold you. Is that okay?” He picked up the remote and muted the movie. Who needed that when she was living her fantasy right here?
Her answer was to sink into his side. He put his arm around her. And it felt nice. More than nice.
It felt like she was wrapped in a cozy sweater, except the sweater smelled like citrus-cedar wood body wash and had an impressively hard chest, which she knew because her hand was splayed against it, her fingertips sizzling at how unyielding his body was.
So the sweater analogy was all wrong. This wasn’t cozy. It was a potent combination of sexy and comforting, and God knew she needed that. Both those things.
He was suddenly closer, and she was finding it hard to catch her breath. Her mouth had gone dry, and she could feel a hot puff of air—his air—on her lips.
The same lips he was currently stroking, ever so gently, as if worried he’d spook her.
Oh, that super yacht had sailed. She was spooked, but also frozen with lust.
“Bast,” she whispered, her voice sounding like desperation in audio form.
That word was permission, an invitation to cover her mouth with his.
Which he did.
It felt so good to be kissing him again. He tasted good. No, better than that. He tasted right, and she didn’t know if that was more wishful thinking on her part. Anything to justify why this was okay.
What had happened between them in the last twenty-four hours, all the hunger, should be enough to tell her this was a bad idea.
Yet she couldn’t pull away. Perhaps it was how he was able to temper the hunger with a shocking gentleness. The kiss vibrated through her, not in a sexual way, or not only that, but in a way that told her he cared.
What an incredibly desperate, stupid conclusion to draw, but she felt as though she was in no better hands—or hand—right now.
She pulled back, her eyes locked to his, needing a moment to breathe. To assess.
He watched her, all blue-eyed intensity. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he finally said.
“That thinking is overrated. And …”
“And?”
“I want you.”
His nostrils flared. He didn’t speak. Was that good? Bad?
He seemed to be waiting for her to continue, so she did.
“I’m guessing there are no condoms, but I’m on birth control. An IUD because I wanted to be ready for …” She trailed off. “But I understand that you barely know me, never mind trust me.”