by Roni Loren
Hill stepped from behind her and grabbed a spoon. He scooped up some of the pico and held it out to her. “Now for the fun part.”
Andi smiled. “I feel like we’ve already been having the fun part.”
His eyes sparked with pleasure at that. “Truth. But go ahead and taste the fruits of your labor.”
She stepped closer and let him feed her a bite. The fresh, tart taste hit her tongue and she groaned. It was so much better than that jarred salsa she bought.
“So?” Hill asked, looking sweetly anticipatory, as if he was afraid she’d hate it.
She swallowed her bite and grinned. “It tastes like summer on a spoon. We’re amazing at cooking.”
He laughed and took a bite. “We definitely are.”
She grabbed a jalapeño that was still on the cutting board. “What about this guy?”
“That guy needs some extra attention, and we have to decide how hot we want the pico to be.”
She eyed the pepper. “Extra attention?”
“Gloves,” he explained. “If you cut a chili pepper without protection, the oils get in your skin and it can burn for hours. And it will make everything you touch burn, too—your eyes, your lips”—he raised a brow—“other things.”
She pressed her lips together to stanch a laugh. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“You only make that mistake once,” he said with a sage nod.
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. We also need to taste a little because some jalapeños are as mild as bell peppers, and some are really hot. You can’t tell by looking at them.”
He gave her a pair of disposable kitchen gloves and then walked her through the process of stemming, seeding, and mincing the pepper.
When they were done, he took a small piece of the jalapeño and held it up to her. “Now for the test.”
She opened her mouth and let him place it on her tongue. The heat of it hit her almost instantly, warming her tongue and sending an almost fruity taste along her taste buds. She chewed and swallowed, the spice potent but not overbearing.
“Well?” he asked, pulling off his gloves.
“I think it’s the perfect amount of spicy,” she said, picking up another piece and holding it out to him. He let her feed it to him, his gaze locked with hers. Her face was only inches from his.
“Just right,” he said softly.
She should step back now, give them space, but she didn’t move.
“I want to kiss you,” Hill said in warning.
The words were what she needed to hear. He was giving her a chance to opt out. “I’m going to let you.”
He smiled and she peeled off her gloves, tossing them somewhere on the counter without looking, and then her hands were splayed against his chest. Hill wrapped his arms around her and dipped his head down to kiss her. Her eyes fell shut. This time it wasn’t a sweet peck or a gentle press of the lips. His hand squeezed her waist, and when her lips parted, his tongue grazed against hers, spicy heat from the pepper sparking along her taste buds again. She groaned into it, and her arms slid around his neck.
He made a sound of pleasure in the back of his throat and deepened the kiss, tasting her fully and making her legs feel like jelly beneath her. Before she knew it, she was pressed up against the opposite counter, his hand slipping beneath the hem of her shirt and pressed hot against her rib cage, not moving but sending heat straight to the center of her, making things wake with awareness. Her body arched against him.
“Andi,” he said between kisses. Her name sounded like a prayer and plea all at once.
His tongue stroked hers, and her hips rocked against him, seemingly of their own volition. When he pushed close again, hard heat met her belly, sending electricity through her like a shock wave. Hill’s arousal stoked her own, made her want to touch him, explore, make him even hotter, but it also sent up a warning flare in her brain. The last time she’d gotten to this place with a guy, he’d seen it as an automatic invitation to her bed. When she’d stopped him, he’d been pissed and called her a fucking tease. His anger had scared the hell out of her, setting off her anxiety like a forest fire.
She didn’t want to stop, but she also didn’t think she was ready for more than this yet. She broke off the kiss, pressing her forehead to Hill’s. He stayed in that position, panting softly.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
She lifted her head. “For what?”
His eyes met hers, his pupils dark. “I should be able to kiss you without getting a hard-on. I wasn’t trying to push you into something further. My body just…really appreciates you. On a survey, it would give you five out of five stars.”
She grinned at the unexpected response. “You don’t need to apologize for getting turned on. Just because my response isn’t visible doesn’t mean my body’s not a big fan of yours right now, too.”
His eyebrows arched and a wicked little smile touched his lips. “Yeah?”
“Andi’s girl parts give you two thumbs up.” She slid her hands to his shoulders. “But Andi’s brain is hitting the Pause button for the moment.”
He nodded and cupped her face, placing a kiss on her forehead. “Understood.” He stepped back, giving her space, and headed back to the kitchen island. “Let’s make some steak. I’m starved.”
The thick outline in his jeans was goddamned distracting, but something tight and nervous in her chest unfurled a little more. Hill was keeping his promise. He was obviously turned on, clearly wanted her, but he was going to respect her boundaries with no judgment or cajoling.
That felt…magical.
She took a steadying breath, her body still coursing with her own arousal, and headed back to him. “I’m ready to learn, Chef.”
He reached out and took her hand. “Let’s talk about how flank steak is your friend.”
Chapter Fourteen
Hill draped his arm over the back of Andi’s couch as they watched Happy Death Day. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this content being in the moment. Normally, his brain was filled with images from the past or grim thoughts of the future. But right now, he was just happy to be there, having a movie night with Andi.
He’d always enjoyed movies, but watching a movie with Andi was a whole different experience. He had no doubt that she’d seen this film countless times and already knew what happened in the plot, but she watched it with such full-body commitment that a stranger observing would’ve sworn this was her first time.
Andi was currently biting her thumbnail, her knees to her chest, sock-covered feet on the couch, and her gaze glued to the screen. He was starting to recognize this as her pre-jump-scare position. She shook her head. “Don’t do it, girl. Don’t go in there.”
Hill bit his lip, trying not to laugh. Andi was a talk-to-the-screen person, which he found enormously entertaining. “She’s totally going to do it.”
Andi turned to him, eyes glittering with light from the screen. “Yeah, they never listen. They really need a best friend like me to warn them. But I don’t wanna be a best friend in a horror movie. Things usually don’t end well for the BFF.”
“No?”
“You have to be the star or, at the very least, the love interest, or you’re screwed.”
“At least she’ll get another do-over.” The heroine of the movie kept dying over and over and reliving the same day. “I’ll hold out hope for the love interest.”
“I’m sure he appreciates your support.” Andi glanced at the arm Hill had draped across the back of the couch and then back to him. He could almost see her mental Should I or shouldn’t I wheels turning. After a beat, she scooted closer and settled against his side. The little vote of trust sent a dart of pleasure through him. He moved his arm, curving it a little so that he was holding her. He could feel her shoulders tighten a bit, but then she rolled her lips together and
seemed to breathe out the tension.
A sharp pang went through him at her reaction. Even something as simple as an arm around her made her tense up.
What did he do to you, Andi?
The question whispered through his mind—not for the first time tonight. Hill didn’t know who the he was or what specifically had happened, but in that moment, he wanted to physically harm the scumbag who’d hurt her. Whoever had made this smart, vibrant woman so frightened of even a simple cuddle on the couch deserved to have the shit beat out of him. Twice.
“Do you need me to move my arm?” he asked.
She reached over and patted his thigh. “I’m good. Thanks for asking, though.”
“Just let me know.” He turned back to the screen, and the heroine was waking up in the same day again. “That really is a true horror premise,” he said as the heroine’s phone started playing “In Da Club” again. “Imagine having to live the same day over and over again. And not just any day, but your worst day.”
That was what his nightmares felt like—waking up in the same day over and over. In the same horrible moment. Roof beams splintering, fire raining down. Unable to escape and forced to relive it.
“Yeah,” she said, leaving her hand on his thigh. “But if it gave you the chance to change something, maybe it’d be worth it?”
“Right.” His mind went to the day of the fire. He’d been filling in for someone who was sick. What if he hadn’t answered the call to come in that day? What if he and Christina had gone on a road trip that day like they’d planned and turned off their phones? Where would he be right now? Still a firefighter, two fully intact legs, married. Not depressed. Not waking up soaked with sweat from nightmares.
“I have a day like that,” she said, still looking at the screen. “I’d go back in a second if I could change it.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Me too.”
She gave him an empathetic look and then rested her head against his shoulder. The solid comfort of having her against him smoothed the sharp edges of the memories that had surfaced.
They finished the movie in comfortable silence. When the credits started to roll, Andi turned off the TV and shifted her body to face him. “So, what’d you think?”
“I think that you, Andi Lockley, are a great curator of movies,” he said, meaning it. “This one was really different from the Halloween ones even though I assume it’d still be considered a slasher.”
“Yep. Definitely in the slasher genre.” She smiled and patted his cheek. “Look at you, learning and shit.”
“I have my moments. I also liked that it was darkly funny.” He gave her a mock serious look. “But…let’s talk about the true horror ramifications of that movie.”
She cocked her head. “Which is?”
“I’ll never be able to get 50 Cent’s ‘In Da Club’ out of my head ever again.” He tapped his temple. “Burned there. Permanently. Forever and ever, amen.”
She laughed. “Oh yeah, you’ll be stuck with that for days.”
She started humming and rapping the line “It’s your birthday.” He playfully put his hands over his ears.
She grabbed his wrists and pulled them away from his head. “Sorry not sorry.”
He smiled, his wrists still cuffed by her fingers. “I’m not sorry either. I like watching movies with you.”
“Yeah?” She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t find it annoying that I talk to the screen? My friends often throw popcorn at me.”
“Nope.” He noticed she wasn’t letting him go, and he shifted his body to face her fully. “It’s highly entertaining. I think half the time I was watching the movie, and the other half I was watching you watch the movie.”
Rosy color dotted her cheeks, bringing her faint freckles into relief. “I’m insufferable in a theater.”
“Nah. I can’t imagine you’re insufferable under any circumstance.”
“Don’t count those chickens yet. I’m bound to annoy you at some point,” she teased.
“Too late. Chickens counted.” She looked so pretty in the lamplight, her dark-red hair braided like some Renaissance woman, her blue eyes full of mischief, and her shirt sliding off her shoulder, giving him a peek of smooth, creamy skin and a thin purple bra strap. He wanted to kiss her right there, where her neck met her shoulder, wanted to know if the skin there felt as soft as it looked. He swallowed hard, trying to rein in the pictures his mind was weaving. Crock-Pot experiment.
She looked down at her hands, which were still holding his wrists. After a long moment, her voice was soft when she spoke again. “Hill?”
“Yeah?” he asked, his voice coming out tight.
She peeked up from under her lashes, worry there. “I want to kiss you some more, but…could you keep your hands by your sides?”
The request made his gut twist. He hated—hated—that Andi had been victimized, that she’d been saddled with this fear by some selfish, malicious asshole. He wished he could wave a wand and take it all from her, make her feel safe and powerful and in control. But there were no magic wands. He knew more than anyone how deep trauma cut, how lifelong those wounds could be.
What he could give her, though, was his word. “I won’t touch you unless you ask me to. I promise.”
She inhaled deeply, her shoulders rising with it, and then nodded. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I’ve been wanting to kiss you again for the last hour. You’re giving me exactly what I want.”
She smiled at that. “Benefits for both sides then.” She tucked her knees beneath her and lifted up, pressing his wrists down at his sides and against the couch cushions, bringing her breasts precariously close to his face before sitting back on her calves again. “You stay right there.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She bit her lip, still smiling. “Okay, the way you say ‘ma’am’ is kind of hot.”
He laughed under his breath. “Andi Lockley, author, podcaster, budding sexual dominant.”
She cocked a brow and then swung her knee over, straddling his thighs and surprising the hell out of him. “Don’t give me any ideas. I do enjoy being in charge in other areas of my life.”
His tongue pressed to the back of his teeth at the feel of her straddling him, her hands on his shoulders, giving him a delicious view down her loose shirt. “Andi, feel free to get any goddamned ideas you want.”
Her fingers curled into his T-shirt, her gaze meeting his. “To be one hundred percent honest, my experience is extremely limited. So even though I’ve figured some things out on my own, I don’t know a lot about what I like and don’t like yet with guys.”
On my own. Aaaand he was done. Picturing Andi getting herself off was enough to send his starved libido into a seizure. All his blood rushed south, and his cock pressed against the zipper of his jeans. He felt his ears go hot, embarrassed that he was on such a hair trigger. “Sorry. Obviously, I’m happy to be your test subject.”
Andi glanced down, her eyes widening slightly. But when she looked back up, instead of her expression saying Dude, control yourself, it seemed to be saying Well, hello there. She braced her hands on his shoulders and leaned down, putting her mouth a breath away from his. “I have to say, knowing I can do that with just words does feel pretty damn powerful.”
He wanted to reach out and touch her so badly, slide his hands beneath the hem of her shirt, feel her skin, kiss her neck, find out what sounds she made. But he kept his palms glued to the couch cushions. “It’s not just your words, Andi. If you haven’t noticed, you’re fucking gorgeous. And smart. And—”
Her lips touched his, cutting him off and making his eyelids fall shut. Her hands went to his jaw, holding him where she wanted him, and her tongue touched his. The kiss was hungrier than the ones earlier, more urgent, like she was daring herself to take it a little further. She deepened the kiss and shifted on his
lap, settling against him, the hard ridge of his erection pressing at the apex of her thighs. He groaned into her mouth, the heat of her body apparent even through his jeans, and she made a delicious noise in the back of her throat. He lifted his hands, wanting to grab her waist, to angle her where he could make her feel even better, but he caught his mistake just in time. He planted his hands against the couch again.
Trust. Above all else, that was what she needed from him. To be able to trust his word.
He refused to let her down.
She broke away from the kiss, still holding his face in her hands. Her blue eyes were a little dazed, and she was out of breath. “I want your shirt off.”
“Then take it off,” he said. “I’ve been told not to use my hands.”
She bit down on her bottom lip, eyes smiling. “So you have.”
She reached for the bottom edge of his T-shirt and then lifted it over his head before tossing the shirt somewhere behind the couch. Her palm pressed against his chest, a hot brand of skin-to-skin contact.
A flash of insecurity went through him. In the past, he’d been proud of his body, working hard to keep in top shape for the fire department, but he didn’t look how he used to. He had scars from the fire, places where hair would never grow again, raised pink stripes where the edges of a burning wooden beam had landed on him.
But when he looked up at Andi’s face, the sharp edges of self-consciousness softened. He never claimed to know a woman’s mind, but right now, Andi’s poker face was nonexistent. That wasn’t the look of revulsion or pity. It was the look of a woman who wanted things. Who wanted him.