She will be here. Tomorrow you will lose him!
Her heart roared back, It’s NOT tomorrow YET! brooking no further argument.
Jane tilted her head back up and whispered, “Do you want to come in?”
He leaned back, looking at her tenderly, his fingers still kneading the skin at her waist.
“Oh, I’m not offering that!” she said, eyes widening. “We could just…”
“I…I didn’t think you were.” Lars grinned, stifling a chuckle. “Sure, I’ll—”
“Just…” She backed away from his hands, standing against the door, cheeks hot. “Come in if you want.”
She unlocked the door and he followed her inside.
CHAPTER 5
When he told Jane he liked her, he’d only been telling most of the truth. He didn’t remember ever feeling quite like this about a girl, and while he knew his feelings had intensified quickly, he couldn’t help them. She was the most interesting person he had ever met, and he didn’t care that her cousin was really pretty. Nothing was going to happen with her cousin and Jane would just have to trust him on that.
He pulled the door shut behind him then turned to face her, and try as he might to remember the words I’m not offering that, the idea of throwing Jane down on the bed and proving to her just how much he liked her felt like a pretty solid plan.
Ambient light streamed in from the parking lot through the venetian blinds, and he was glad she didn’t flick on one of the overhead lights. He preferred the romantic half-light.
She put her sunglasses on the bureau and slipped out of her sandals. He hadn’t noticed before, but her toes were perfectly painted with some color of dark polish and they looked slick and shiny. Sexy. An unexpected concession to beauty in such an unfussy girl—he felt the flush of heat across his skin just looking at them.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs, leaning back on her palms. She looked up at him, but her face was unreadable and for the first time in a long time, he was in a girl’s hotel room, but he wasn’t sure of himself.
Jane didn’t give an inch.
She didn’t pat the bed beside her in invitation, or tilt her head to the side with a teasing smile; just raised those serious green eyes to look at him. He wasn’t sure if he liked it, feeling unsure of himself; he wasn’t sure if such unpredictability was unsettling or exciting.
Without breaking their gaze, he let the backpack on his shoulder slip down his arm and carefully rested it on the floor. He leaned against the back of the hotel room door, staring at her with his arms crossed. She had invited him in with conditions. Frankly, he wasn’t even sure why she had invited him in, and he sure as heck wasn’t making the first move no matter how much he wanted to.
Her tongue darted out to lick her lips and she bit lightly on her lower lip, looking at him, but she still didn’t say a word and Lars couldn’t get a bead on whether she was flirting with him or nervous, but he watched her, fascinated, wondering what would happen next, trying not to think of better uses for that tongue than licking her own lips.
“This is awkward,” she finally rasped, softly. “It’s just a big bedroom, isn’t it? If we were in New York and I invited you back to my place after a date, we wouldn’t just go sit in my bedroom.”
“Not that I’d mind if we ended up there, Minx.” He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable or awkward. He had an idea. “So…what would we do? If you invited me back to your place in New York?”
Jane leaned forward, moving her crossed foot in lazy circles. “Well…we’d hang out in my living room…and I’d offer you a drink, for starters. Coffee or tea or another glass of wine.”
“I can make that happen.” Lars lightly nudged his backpack. “I have another bottle in here if we want another glass.”
He squatted down, unzipping the backpack and took out the bottle. The glasses clinked together as he stood up, placing all three items on the bureau in front of her.
Jane smiled at him, standing up, and he was painfully aware of her so close to him in the dim light—and how close they both were to the bed behind them. His body tightened and he swallowed, looking down at her curly head.
“How about a glass of wine?” she asked with a tentative grin.
“Why yes, New-York-Jane, I would love one.” He exhaled. Stay cool, Lars. Let her relax a little.
She unscrewed the top of the wine bottle and poured two glasses, offering him one. When he took it, his fingers grazed hers, a feather touch, but it chipped away at his self-control. His breathing got more deliberate as his eyes shot up to meet hers. She swallowed, watching him, then sat back down on the bed.
He took a sip from beside the bureau, his eyes holding hers.
“Then what?” he asked, unable to keep the huskiness out of his voice.
“I’d light a fire in my little fireplace. It’s gas, not wood, but I like the glow. Makes my living room feel warm.”
Through a fog of want, Lars remembered something. He put up his finger, telling her to hold on for a second. “Didn’t use this tonight.”
Lars squatted down in front of his backpack again, and when he stood up, he was holding a small, green plastic lantern. “It’s an LED lantern. Came with the backpack.”
Jane beamed at him. She stood up to take the lantern, then turned it on and placed it next to the open bottle of wine. When she turned, he had moved to stand between her and the bed. She was so close he could feel the heat of her body. It took every ounce of self-control in his tense, aroused body not to touch her.
“So…” he murmured. “We have our firelight and our wine. We’re in New York. What comes next?”
“Music,” she whispered. She swallowed. “You’d love my vinyl collection.”
“I bet.”
As she reached for the phone in her back pocket, her breasts grazed his chest. He cleared his throat to stifle the soft growl that he couldn’t help as he gazed down at her.
“Ah-hem. Uh, cue up some music, New-York-Jane.”
She reached around him, lightly brushing his waist as she placed her wine glass on the bureau. Tapping on the phone screen, she looked up at him. “What’re you in the mood for?”
I’m in the mood to make out with you.
He looked down, feeling the uncomfortable pressure of his heavy breathing as he smelled the scent of her shampoo. “May I?”
“Sure.”
Looking down at the phone, he was distracted by the slight movement of her breasts in the shadowy light cast from the bright screen. She was breathing just as heavily as he was. He could hear her quick intake of breath as he grazed her hand with the back of his.
Yeah, Minx. Me too.
“What do you have?” he whispered.
One of her fingers pushed the song list up slowly, and he tried like hell to concentrate on the names, not on her fingers, or the warmth of her smaller body, or on her breasts moving up and down with every breath she took and released. He tried to focus on finding a song that would fit the mood, that would tell her what he wanted, what he was feeling.
“This one.” He tapped lightly on The Beatles “Woman.”
“Good choice,” she murmured.