“Is she the one?” I ask, overemphasizing the last two words, mimicking Moriarty.
He looks at me, a half grin on his face. “Yeah, that was quite the awkward question from Stacey.”
“You answered it judiciously,” I say.
“I tried.”
“So . . . she’s not the one?” I ask, not being able to help myself.
“I . . . don’t think so.”
“And Kristin?”
He shakes his head. “Probably not.”
“Well, you have one more date; maybe this one will really win you over.”
“I doubt it,” he says.
I hadn’t realized, but as we’ve been talking, we’ve been taking little steps toward each other, and now we’re barely a foot away. He’s so close I could reach out and touch him. Touch the stubble on his face, run my fingers through his hair.
Get a grip, Quinn.
“Are you that picky?” I ask, the words coming out a little breathy sounding.
“No . . . I mean, yes.” He lets out a breath and then just stands there, looking at me, the silence in this padded room almost deafening.
“So you are picky,” I say, finally.
“No, not that.” He looks down to the floor as if he’s trying to find the right words, and then his eyes come back up to mine, and there’s decision there. He knows what he wants to say. “I think it’s just that I keep comparing each girl to . . . well, to you.”
My mouth goes dry; my heart, which was already pumping a quick beat just being in Henry’s proximity, picks up its pace. I find myself wishing I had a DVR for this moment so I can rewind and hear what he just said over and over again, because I’m finding it too hard to believe.
“What?” I ask, wanting him to repeat his words.
“I find that I’m comparing them all to you,” he says. His eyes are on my face, as if he’s trying to read my reaction. “Which is crazy because I haven’t known you all that long, but . . . I can’t help it. It also doesn’t help that you’re there every time, outside that blasted window.” He looks to the side, and a vein in his temple pops out.
“I’m sorry,” I say, taking a step back from him. “I’m just doing my job.”
“I know,” he says, his face turning back toward mine, his jaw tight. “I’m just so tired of fighting myself, Quinn.” He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair. Then he lets out a frustrated breath as his hand falls to his side. He takes a step toward me. “I don’t think I can do it anymore.”
“Henry, I . . .” My voice trails off as he takes another step toward me, nearly eliminating the gap between us.
Before I have a chance to say anything else, he leans his head toward me and presses his lips to mine, giving me a soft kiss. It’s almost as if he’s trying to test the waters, dipping a toe in to see how I’ll react. Am I hot, am I cold?
I’m a mixture of both, if I’m being honest. And when he pulls back, his eyes search my face, our breaths intermingling, I have this weird feeling like I’m floating, my feet far from the ground.
I reach up and place a hand on his face, my eyes taking him in, wanting to make sure he’s real and that my crazy brain hasn’t just run off on one of its fantasies like it does.
But it’s really him, and I’m really me, and we’re really here. My touch is apparently all the signal Henry needs, because he wraps his arms around me, walking us backward until my body hits the padded wall behind me, and I react with a soft moan as his lips crash onto mine. There’s no hesitation, no tiptoeing in, just mouth moving over mouth, tongues exploring. His hands pull me closer—I’m fully wrapped up in him. I reach up and tangle a hand in the hair at the base of his head, feeling his thick, dark hair between my fingers.
My mind goes off on its own: white picket fences, blue doors, prams . . . I can’t go there because I have no idea what any of this means. Henry could pull his lips from mine and decide that this is a mistake, and I’ll be left here feeling possibly worse than I was before because now I know . . . I know how it feels to have his lips fully on mine, his hands on my body. The low, deep grumble he makes in his throat when I run my tongue along his bottom lip. I won’t be able to unknow this. It will be burned on my brain forever.
Our kisses slow from their frantic pace to something more slow, more tender. Henry nips my bottom lip with his teeth, and I feel like I could melt into this padded wall behind me, being so thoroughly and utterly kissed.
I want more from him. I need more. He can’t dangle this in front of me and take it away. I don’t think I could recover.
The kissing slows even further, now just long, lingering lip-to-lip action without all the wild frenzy. When Henry finally pulls his mouth away and leans his forehead against mine, my lips feel swollen and slightly numb. We’re both breathless, and we’re both smiling.
“I have wanted to do that for a while,” he says.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he says, pulling back his face so we’re now eye to eye. “Didn’t you know? Couldn’t you tell?”
“I . . . No . . . I couldn’t tell.”
“Oh,” he says, his voice soft. His eyes move downward. “I . . . but was this okay, then?”
I answer by putting my fingers under his chin and leaning in. The vulnerability in his eyes is back—the man I went on those three wonderful dates with is finally standing in front of me.
I place a kiss on his lips. “Yes, this is so okay. I’ve wanted you to do that, too.”
He lets out a relieved chuckle and then wraps his arms fully around me once more, nuzzling his face into my neck with a low grumbling sound that does wild things to my insides.
I rub my hands up and down his back, loving that I’m in his arms, wanting so much more than this from him. I want a relationship, a commitment. Does this mean he’s throwing caution to the wind? Does this mean he wants to be with me, despite all of his self-imposed rules?
I don’t want to ask him now—I don’t want to ruin the moment. This nearly perfect moment in the audio booth.
Unfortunately, I do have to ruin the moment: with reality. “The night news staff could come in here soon,” I say as Henry starts kissing a path up my neck and to my jaw. I don’t want this to end, but I also know getting caught kissing my executive producer in the station audio booth would definitely not look good for either of us.
He pulls away, giving me a nod. “We should probably exit at separate times so no one catches us.” He gives a conspiratorial double brow lift.
I smile mischievously and grab him by the shirt, pulling him into me. “Sounds like we just had a clandestine meeting.”
The corner of his mouth quirks upward. He leans in and kisses me softly. “That’s pretty sexy.”
“It is,” I say. “Shall we sneak out and meet each other somewhere for a drink?”
Henry looks away from me, the smile on his face falling slightly. Then his eyes meet mine, that sly grin of his back. “How about you come to my place. I have drinks.”
I let go of his shirt and take a step back, up against the padded wall again. I want to be with Henry, but that feels a little too fast for me. We still have a lot to unravel here, a lot to figure out. I’m not jumping into something headfirst without knowing exactly what all this means, and going back to his place seems to hold a lot of connotation. Plus, I’m not quite ready for him to see me . . . all of me. I still have things to work through here.