My mom would take me to task. My aunt would too. They’d point out the ten-year age difference between Ellie and me. They’d remind me I used to babysit her.
The dog jumps once more, then notices me. The football-sized mutt whips around to face me, transforming into an unholy terror.
Hell, her dog will have my ass too.
“Gigi thinks she’s a German shepherd.” Ellie scoops up the pup and tells her, “Gabe is a friend. You can say hi to him.”
Friend.
That’s a gut punch. And it smarts, but hell, it’s for the best. Ellie’s making it clear how she sees me. Gigi must agree, since she settles down, lip uncurling, ears swiveling forward like radar dishes. I pet the pup’s chin. The cutie lifts it higher, asking for more. “Ooh, you’re charming her too,” Ellie coos to me, then puts the dog down. Beckoning me along, Gigi heads to the back door.
Fine, one dog visit, then I am making my excuses.
Ellie slides open the back door, and while her pup races across the yard, the woman in pink slinks over to me on her deck, stopping less than a foot away, right next to an Adirondack chair. She nibbles on the corner of her lips.
A groan escapes me, unbidden, at how much I want to bite those lips too.
She’s not making my great escape any easier. Everything’s harder.
Then she inches closer, reaches for my shirt, tugs me toward her. “Hi. So about that question you asked me. Can we start answering it?”
Be strong.
Resist.
But when Ellie Snow stares wantonly at my mouth, my control starts to fray. One kiss, then I’ll go.
One standard order kiss.
Tenderly, I pull her against me. “Can I kiss you?” I ask.
Her brow creases. Her eyes are full of question marks. “Um, yeah,” she says, likeduh.
But I have to treat her carefully for this kiss, or I’ll be in a heap of trouble. So I cup her cheeks. Gently. Then I press my lips to hers and give her a barely-there smooch. I kiss slowly, stroking her cheek as I brush my lips across hers.
Take your time. Treat her with care. She won’t throw rocks at you at the party, then.
But even like this, she’s soft and sexy. Maybe, just maybe, I can learn to like this pace.For her.
Hell, with the way she smells—like cherry blossoms—and feels—like a sexy dream—I can like anything with her.
But does she even like this? She’s kissing me back tentatively. Slowly, like she’s testing the waters. But gradually, she takes the reins, kissing a little harder. Then Ellie rises on tiptoes and kisses me deep.
Oh, fuck. That’s real nice.
I slide a hand through her hair, tenderly stroking her strands, keeping my cool when the dog who thinks she’s a German Shepherd tells me off in a few sharp, stern barks.
I break the kiss. “She’s trying to tell me something, I think.”
Mischief glitters in Ellie’s eyes. “Fortunately, I speak dog,” she says, then picks up the critter. “What did you say, Gigi?”
She pretends to listen to the dog, then nods, pops the pup inside the house, and returns to me. Lifting her chin, she meets my eyes with a fearless gaze. There’s been a shift from before she let the dog inside. She’s ramping up to something.
“Gabe, I want you to kiss me like you’ll die if you don’t.”
Wait. That doesn’t sound like a good girl request.
“Then fuck me so hard I scream.”