His hands move lower, down to my waist, and I move my hands to the back of his neck. I gasp as he picks me up, swiftly lifting me to the countertop in one smooth movement, his mouth never leaving mine as he does. Oh my God, this is my passionate book moment! I’ve never been kissed like this. Brady presses closer to me, his hands now back in my hair, his tongue continuing to stroke mine. The kiss is hungry and hot, and I instinctively open my legs to Brady so he can be closer.
He doesn’t break the kiss as he slides in between them. His hands move around my back, drawing me to his hard, muscled chest. I wrap my legs around him, trembling as I do, and a sensual groan of desire escapes his throat. Heat sears through me in response to that sound, one I created within him. My hands grab his gorgeous waves, and I tug on them. Brady kisses me harder. A whimper of pure pleasure escapes my throat, and Brady abruptly tears his lips away from mine, leaving me gasping for breath.
“Damn it,” he manages, his voice low and rough. He fights to regain his breath and lowers his forehead to mine, his breathing hard and ragged. “Christ, I didn’t intend to kiss you like that so soon tonight. I don’t know what happened. I was talking to you and looking at you, and you are so damn hot and beautiful and—”
“Brady,” I interrupt him. I’ve had a chance to breathe while he has been speaking. “I wanted it. I’m glad you kissed me like that.”
I slowly rub the nape of his neck in a sweet manner while our foreheads are still pressed together. I hear his breathing regulate. One of his hands cups my face while the other remains protectively wrapped around my back, holding me to him.
“I will not do that again until we’ve talked,” Brady says gently. He lifts his head and continues to caress my cheek while he looks at me. “I want you to know I’m not just here for this. I’m here to get to know you.”
My emotions shift with his words. I go from passionate and desperate for him to nearly wanting to cry at how he views me. That he’s not here to hook up with me and never be seen again. I mean, I already knew that, but it’s important to him that I hear these words from his lips. That I know whatever is happening between us is more than chemistry.
So much more, my heart whispers.
“I know why you’re here,” I say firmly.
“I don’t want anything to be misunderstood between us.”
My God, this is what dating a man with true depth is like. I didn’t even grasp how this was absent in my short-lived romance with Ryan until this very moment.
“I understand, and I appreciate you saying that,” I tell him, stroking his hair with my fingertips. “Thank you for being so amazing.”
Brady’s brow furrows. “How am I amazing for wanting to get to know you?”
I reach up and brush my index finger from the bridge of his nose down to the tip of it. “You have no idea how special you are. But trust me. You’re amazing.”
A warm smile lights up his face, and I melt upon sight of it.
“Okay. I’m back on track now. As part of getting to know you, I need to see the Box of Fail. After I play with my new friends Willy and Petey, of course.”
I grin as he picks me up, swirling me around in his arms and making me laugh. He drops one kiss on my lips before setting me back down.
“Follow me, my lord,” I tease, taking his hand in mine.
A sexy, throaty chuckle escapes his lips. “My lord. That makes me laugh.”
“Well, I could call you ‘your grace,’” I offer.
He chuckles again. Goosebumps sweep over my skin even though I heard that same chuckle mere seconds ago.
“This way,” I say, leading him down the narrow hallway. “Now, one thing you have to love about old buildings here are the slanted floors, lack of closet space, and narrow stairs and hallways. I have storage bins under my bed to store my clothing if that tells you anything.”
I lead him to the door of my bedroom. I turn and gaze up at him. “Petey and Willy are well-trained, they use their litter box, and this room is completely ferret-proofed, so they have free roam of my room while I’m at work. Their cages are in here, but normally when I’m out, they are happy to stay in their cages and sleep.”
“What’s ferret-proofed?”
“That means there are no small spaces where they can crawl and get stuck, my cords are in protective tubes, et cetera. I actually had to staple gun a special upholstery fabric underneath my box spring so they wouldn’t chew through the thin fabric on the original one.”
“You’re a dedicated owner,” Brady says.
“Well, they have given me so much, and when I adopted them I took on the responsibility to not only care for them but give them a safe home. It’s a small thing to do for all the rewards of animal ownership.”
“How people treat animals says a lot about them,” Brady says, squeezing my hand. “This tells me a lot about you.”
My heart flutters. “Thank you. I like to think I’m a good fur mom.”
“There is no doubt of that,” Brady says. “Now, come on. Show me the boys.”
I happily turn the knob and pop open the door. But before I can even think of saying anything further, I stop dead in my tracks in horror. My hand flies to my mouth.
Oh. My. God.
My room is awash in panty liners, tampons, and pads. My face turns beet red as an absolute explosion of feminine protection products greets us, tampons and pads all over the floor, my bed, and oh, dear God, I see Willy dragging a maxi pad and taking it to his stash spot under my dresser.
My eyes dart around the room, and I see what has happened. I must have not tightly latched my storage bin with my bulk supply of ladies’ products, and Petey and Willy have gone to town opening all the boxes and dragging them out.
Every. Single. One.
“Shit!” I cry, mortified.
“What is he doing with that?” Brady asks, pointing to Willy as he slinks under the dresser with a pad and reappears without it.
Before I can even reply, Petey motors by with a tampon in his mouth, going to the same stash spot to hide his fabulous feminine protection prize.
My face is a raging inferno of embarrassment.
I have more feminine protection products than a warehouse store that sells in bulk, which I apparently was stupid enough to buy.
I turn around to look at Brady, who is watching in fascination as Willy and Petey continue their work of transporting my many, many feminine protection products to underneath the dresser.
“Well,” Brady says, bending down to pick up a box of pantyliners, “I see you believe in stocking up.”
I gasp. He’s not holding my pantyliners. He’s not.
I snatch the box out of his hand. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll get this all cleaned up.”
“No, I will not. I’ll help you.”
OMG. This is not happening!
“Um, I’d rather you not,” I blurt out. “This is a date. A second date. And, um, my idea of a good date does not have you picking up my pads!”
I watch in absolute shock as Brady crouches down on the floor, rocking back on his heels as Willy drops a tampon on his foot.
Die. I need to die now.
Brady strokes Willy and gazes up at me from his position on the floor.
“Addison. Lady Addison,” he corrects with a devilish grin. “I know you are a woman. I know you use these. I’m not a teenage boy. I’m not afraid to say the word tampon, let alone pick one up.”