“I’m going to clear these dishes,” I say, rising from my seat. Lizzie starts to move upright, one leg swinging toward the ground but I shoo her back. “Stay. I won’t be a minute.”
“You cooked, so I should—”
“I’ve got it.”
The kitchen would become significantly less of a Lizzie-free haven if she followed me in there.
“Well—”
“Just sit. It’s late and you’re probably dead on your feet.”
Mum’s little escapade and my failure to pick Lizzie up from our designated meeting spot had seen her walking around half of Gatlinburg.
“I’m not tired.”
“Tough.” I don’t argue further. I just take up our plates and disappear inside where I might have the chance to breathe a little easier.
Unfortunately, the solitude of my home has been gradually evaporating since Lizzie arrived. It isn’t really the refuge away from pretty blondes that I need.
It isn’t as if Lizzie is messy. There are no shoes scattered on the floor or bras over doorknobs. The reminders of her presence are few and sparse. But my mind’s-eye seemed to zoom in on them, pinpointing them with surgical precision. Her earphones (finally discovered in a dark recess of her bag, she said) are sitting on the coffee table. Her coat is hooked up by the front door in the hall. In the kitchen, a bright water bottle beside the sink tells me to ‘Keep Living Your Best Life’ with markers of how much water I should be consuming across the hours of the day.
Little reminders. Like pleasant needles, stroking my emotions into a false sense of security. A security that then freaked the hell out this afternoon when my houseguest almost took herself out of the picture.
I dump the plates in the sink with a little too much energy and turn on the tap. I can feel more than a few aches starting up. One in my head, another between my shoulder blades, and the third a regular appearance in my groin.
I sigh and attack the smears of sauce on the dishes, cleaning up until they shine.
Somehow, I’ve evolved from being irritated at my permanent state of low-key arousal, to actually fearing the loss of it. Or the loss of its cause, at least.
Which doesn’t exactly bode well for the future.
Worse still is Lizzie herself. I finish washing up and dry my hands. She’s a permanent catalyst for evolution. A constant source of desire, interest, and now… compassion.
The little towel twists between my hands with a low squeak, and I set it aside.
Steeling myself, I head back outside wondering what the hell I was supposed to do with…
With the beautiful woman now asleep in my rocking chair.
Dammit. I roll my neck and tug at my jeans a little. By all rights, people shouldn’t look attractive when they sleep. Their features are supposed to be all smooshed. Mascara should be streaked down one cheek, or their mouth should be slanted and drooling.
Not Lizzie Lucas, apparently.
No, she sleeps like something painted by Walt fucking Disney.
Draped over her own arm, Miss ‘I’m Not Tired’ is completely conked out, cheeks flushed with the cold air and lips gently parted. Her hair is a pretty waterfall over the side of the chair, its tips falling just a few inches short of the floor. Her body is just a bulk of woolen blanket but I already know what lies beneath. Images of dancing spandex are permanently tattooed on my retina, and are happy to now come to the forefront of my mind.
A pressure hits hard and fast behind my fly and I crouch beside the chair.
“Lizzie,” I pause when she shifts. Snuggling her cheek into her arm, she upsets some of her lashes, sending them crisscrossing over each other. A single imperfection.
What’s worse, she draws her lower lip behind her teeth. A gentle nibble upon the flesh that has my already frayed self-control snapping altogether.
I reach out, unable to help but brush a long lock of hair away from her face. The strands are like silk against the back of my hand. Cold from the night and all the softer for it. Like liquid.
“Mmm…”
I freeze in place, then lean close to see if she’s still asleep.
“Lizzie?”
“Mmm…” A flutter of lashes and those eyes are revealed. Soft and sleepy green. She smiles, the loopy kind that’s still lost in dreams. “Caleb…”
I can’t honestly say I would have avoided what happened next, even if I’d had the time. But the decision is taken out of my hands entirely as Lizzie suddenly crosses the mere inches between us and kisses me full on the mouth.