“The what?” Brady asks, laughing.
“I have a big plastic bin of craft supplies that didn’t quite make it to the hobby stage.”
“I need to see this.”
“You don’t want to see my liquid soaps first?” I tease.
He flashes me a big smile. “I’m more intrigued by the box of failed crafts.”
“It’s in my room. Along with Petey and Willy.”
“Good, I get to see all three.”
I sigh. “You aren’t going to let me off the hook on the Box of Fail, are you?”
His eyes shine brightly at me. “Nope.”
“Okay, follow me,” I say. “I’ll give you the grand tour.”
I move past him and flip on another light, this one an overhead one that brings a harsh bright light over the dining area.
“I hate this particular light, but it came with the place, so I can’t exactly rip it out, but this is my dining room.”
“What’s wrong with the light?” Brady asks, moving closer to me. We’re both standing in front of the table, one with white ladderback chairs and a pretty tulip arrangement in a blue-and-white striped pitcher on the center of a white table runner.
I shiver as he draws near. I swear, I can once again feel the heat from him as he moves behind me.
“Well, it’s an ugly fixture, for one. I’d love drop lighting instead. One I can set with a dimmer. I hate obnoxious bright lighting.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever thought of that before,” Brady says. “Lights on, lights off—that’s my aesthetic.”
I turn and look up at him. “No, you have that all wrong. You start using proper table lamps and floor lamps and different bulbs, and it’s a game-changer.”
Brady studies me for a moment. “Perhaps, you’ll have to show me why lighting is so important,” he says, dropping his voice down.
I lick my lips. His eyes dart to my mouth.
I bite back the words “Compromise me now!” and clear my throat instead.
“Now, as you can see,” I say, my stomach swooshing with anticipation as I head into the next area, “this is my kitchen. Not one designed for a cook, but it’s functional.”
Brady once again draws closer. He moves next to me and takes in the tiny galley kitchen.
“It is small,” he agrees. “And you said you like to cook. Wouldn’t you want to be able to open the oven without hitting the sink?”
I nod. “I would. But this apartment is in the price point I can afford.”
His lips twist in thought. Now, my eyes zero in on his mouth, and all I want is to kiss him. Before I can think further on that, Brady reaches over and picks up the bottle of liquid soap on my sink.
“Ah ha!” he says, turning around. “You didn’t exaggerate. It’s lemon.”
I smile. “I’m weird about soap.”
“That’s all you’re weird about?”
I narrow my eyes at him, pretending I’m irritated by that comment.
“I’m kidding,” he says, smiling at me.
“I’m insulted you think I’m only weird about soap. I’d be incredibly vanilla if I were normal about everything else.”
His eyes flicker again and shift back to my mouth.
Good God, he’s killing me with his sultry gazes directed to my lips. I feel my chest grow tight with anticipation once more.
“Your weirdness,” he says, taking a step closer and threading his fingers through my hair, slowly tucking it behind my ear, “is attractive.”
I let out a shaky breath. Kiss me, I will him. Kiss me.
Once the lock of hair is brushed back, his fingertips deliberately, achingly dance along my jawline. I shiver as they glide back and forth, as if he’s trying to learn the contours of my face and commit them to memory.
“You,” he says, dropping his voice further, “are very, very attractive to me.”
Forget kissing. Sex would be better. If he’s playing the rake, I’ll be the fallen woman. Or I’ll be the rake-ess and devour him. Yes! That would be amazing.
His fingertips continue to gently move over my skin, from my jaw to my chin, then back up to my cheekbones.
“I find you very, very, attractive, too,” I say, completely lost in his gorgeous pale-green eyes.
Now he lifts both hands to my hair, re-threading his fingers through it and sensually caressing the strands in a way that feels so good, I nearly sway as a result.
“Your hair feels like silk,” he murmurs.
“Thank you,” I say, somehow finding the words while I fight off all my impulses to wrap myself around him and pin him against the kitchen sink for a hot kiss.
Of course, with me being Fun-Sized and him being 6’5”, the idea of me pinning him is rather ridiculous.
Now, if he picked me up and put me on the kitchen countertop, that would make it much easier for both of us to make out. He wouldn’t have to get a crick in his neck, and I wouldn’t have to utilize a stepladder.
And the visual is so absurd, I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.
“What’s amusing you?” Brady asks, a smile tugging at his mouth.
“What? Nothing,” I say quickly.
“No, I can see it in your eyes. Better yet, I can see it here,” Brady says, slowly putting one thumb on the corner of my mouth and dragging it sensually across my lower lip. “There’s a smile here.”
Oh, my God. I’m burning up now.
“Perhaps,” he says, moving even closer, “I need to find a way to get it out of you.”
Ahh!
“I’m open to ideas,” I say, flirting with him.
“Interesting. Care to share?”
“Maybe you might care to guess.”
He drags his thumb back across my lip again, torturing me. I swear, I want to whimper from that simple touch.
The man is definitely good with his hands.
“Maybe,” he continues, stopping his thumb dead center on my lower lip, “we can discuss this a different way.”
I hold my breath. He lowers his head. I close my eyes and breathe him in, as the sexy scent of the citrus and cedar cologne lingering on his skin is now close enough for me to smell. Brady still has his thumb over my lower lip, but now his own lips are hovering over mine.
“Do you want me to replace my thumb with my mouth?” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, his warm breath brushing against my lips as he speaks.
I tremble. “Yes,” I whisper. Oh, I need his kiss. I want his mouth on mine now so I can devour him.
Brady slowly removes his thumb. Then his mouth descends upon mine, opening it the second he makes contact. This time, the kiss is deep and urgent. Brady’s hands are in my hair, on my face, his tongue tangling with mine as I become lost in his arms. I slide my hands up his back, feeling the muscles rippling beneath his light sweater. My head is swirling with desire for this man, for this kiss, for this moment that seems like it was destined to happen. I record everything, every detail in my mind. I greedily taste him, my tongue matching his kiss for kiss. God, he tastes and feels divine. I detect peppermint on his lips and tongue. His kiss is sweeping and consuming, and I feel his five o’clock shadow deliciously burning against my skin as his kiss grows more rapid and heated.