“You did not just say that. It’s more than that. Jules, you’re breaking my heart here.” He placed his hand over his chest.
“Tell me it’s not brilliant marketing? It so is!”
He groaned in frustration and reached for me again, pulling me against him in a tight grip. “Admit it’s awesome.”
“It is.” I grinned, enjoying torturing him. “Awesome marketing.”
“You . . . ,” he growled out.
“You,” I echoed, pressing my body even more firmly against his.
As his hard-on pushed against my lower belly, I wanted to move against it, slow and teasing. There was a feminine power that came with knowing you caused that to happen, that having me close turned him on.
“We could skip dinner and just go straight into that ridiculous bedroom of yours,” he said, nipping at my neck with his lips before moving to my ear.
I swallowed, trying to ignore the tingles his lips were causing. “Food first,” I managed to get out, but I had no idea how.
Cal pulled away and smiled. “Food first.”
He poured himself a glass of the bourbon, and I watched him drink it the way he had taught me to, breathing it in before sipping it.
“You can go sit down while I deal with this, if you want,” I said, not wanting him to feel obligated to sit in the kitchen with me.
When he said in a low voice, “I’d rather be where you are,” my heart practically melted into a puddle at my feet, just like the icicles had earlier.
Taking in his perfect smile and damp hair, fresh from the shower, I said, “I still can’t believe you’re really here.”
“I know. Me either.” He winked and gave me a lopsided smile.
Cal talked to me as I went through the motions of warming up our dinner. As he did, I had my back turned to him, and it was almost like having him on speakerphone. But each time I turned around and realized that he was really there, standing with me in my apartment, excitement would rip through me.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“Your voice. I got so used to hearing it over the phone, you know? But now it’s here. In person. It’s just . . .” I paused as I pulled the pasta from the oven, feeling stupid as I said the words out loud. “It’s weird. Like I have to remind my brain that I can open my eyes and enjoy the fact that you’re really here, not thousands of miles away.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” he said, his gaze lingering on my mouth.
It warmed me from the inside out that he understood. I’d never been in a long-distance relationship before, or whatever it was that we were doing, so all of this was uncharted territory for me.
I set the pasta on the kitchen table next to the salad and the bread. A pair of white candles set in sand and shells adorned the table, giving it a warm glow. Our conversation all but stopped once we started eating; apparently both of us were hungrier than we cared to admit.
“Jules, this is delicious,” he said between bites.
“Thank you. I’ll tell my grandma you approve.”
He nodded, trying to talk around a mouthful of food. “Did she make it?”
I laughed. “No, but she gave me the recipe.”
• • •
When we finished dinner, I stood up to clear the table but Cal placed a hand on mine, stopping me.
“I’ll get the dishes.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. Go shower or get ready for bed, whatever you need to do, and let me take care of this, okay?”