Maybe This Kiss

by Jennifer Snow

  Time to put on her handyman hat. Rolling up the sleeves of her sweatshirt, she opened the lid.

  “Need some help?”

  The unexpected sound of a deep male voice made her jump and lose her balance once again on the wet floor. Two hands gripped her shoulders to steady her, and she immediately wished he had let her fall. Feeling her cheeks on fire, she turned to face Neil.

  His profile picture did not fully capture the hotness standing in front of her. Time had been far too good to him. The young, boyish face had been replaced by a rugged handsomeness that would turn more than one head in the small town, and she immediately felt a pang of irrational jealousy. His solid, square jaw with just the right amount of stubble had always been her weakness, and his dark brown eyes held a look of uncertainty mixed with a friendly familiarity as though no time at all had passed since she’d last gazed into them.

  Becky folded her arms across her body, putting up a physical barrier to match the internal one that had immediately sprang up around her heart at the unexpected feelings spurred by the sight of her ex. “What are you doing here? How’d you get in?” Small town or not, she never left her door unlocked. After having a police officer for a husband, she’d known not to adopt a false sense of security.

  “Your daughter let me in.” He surveyed the mess of the laundry room. “Washing machine problems?” he asked, removing his jacket to reveal a tight black T-shirt haphazardly tucked into one side of a hip-hugging pair of jeans.

  “Oh no…it’s no…” She clamped her lips together. She couldn’t even remember the question. What was it about his big, muscular arms that turned her brain to complete mush?

  Maybe the fact that she still remembered what it felt like to be wrapped up in them?

  “Let me look,” Neil said, moving her away by her shoulders and stepping carefully into the water on the floor. It sloshed under his boots and soaked the frayed hem of his faded jeans.

  Riding boots. He’d always talked about owning a motorcycle. An adrenaline junkie from an early age, he’d owned his first dirt bike at fourteen, and the sight of him on it had done crazy things to her teenage hormones. She remembered sneaking out after curfew to ride on the back of it, holding on tight to him as they sped along the empty dirt roads at night, stopping to make out near the riverbank…“That’s not necessary. I got it under control.”

  He ignored her. Opening the lid, he looked inside, then reached into the water, up to his biceps. Sexy, toned, still-tanned-from-the-Miami-sun biceps.

  “Really, I’m sure you have places to be. I’ll call someone if it’s something I can’t fix on my own.” Since ending his pursuit of a hockey career, Jackson flipped houses for a living and was quite the handyman. He was her go-to for these kind of things.

  “It’s okay. I’m here anyway,” Neil said, not sounding all too pleased about it.

  Well, neither was she. She certainly hadn’t been expecting a visit from the hottest man to ever leave her weak in the knees. And she definitely would not have invited him in and allowed him to see her messy laundry room. But here he was. Standing in a puddle of water, his arm disappearing in her washing machine, looking like a sexy gift from handyman heaven.

  And she was wearing Star Wars pajama pants and a holiday-themed sweatshirt featuring Grumpy Cat that said, DASHING THROUGH THE SNOW…GET THE F*CK OUT OF MY WAY.

  Not exactly the way one fantasizes about running into an ex.

  She was going to have to have the “don’t open the door to strangers” talk with Taylor again.

  “I think I found the problem,” he said, pulling a thin piece of black, lacy fabric from the machine. “These were wrapped around the agitator.” He opened the thong, stretching the thin waistband between his hands. “Nice.”

  Her mortification obviously knew no bounds. She yanked them out of his hands and tucked the wet fabric under her arm. The ridiculous underwear had cost more than all of her sensible cotton briefs combined, and they’d been the only thing at Holly’s bachelorette lingerie party she could buy in a show of support.

  She’d worn them under duress earlier that week when she’d had nothing else clean. They were horrible. The lace, the string between her ass cheeks…She shuddered at the memory of how they’d ridden up past her jeans when she’d bent over at the grocery store to pick up an apple that had rolled off the fruit display table, and she’d caught the fifteen-year-old stock boy, Al, staring.

  She should have burned them instead of washing them because she would never wear them again. “Thank you for discovering the problem,” she said through clenched teeth. “Even though I said I had it under control.”

  He ignored her comment. “Why don’t you plug it back in and see if that fixes things?”

  Well, another thong wouldn’t be caught in there, if that’s what he was hoping. A memory of the lingerie she used to wear for him flashed in her mind—matching bra and panty sets, one-piece teddies…The look in his eyes seeing her in those things had made her feel like the sexiest woman in the world. And the way he’d slowly remove the garments from her body had sparked a passion, an intensity, an undeniable need…

  Her eyes met his now and she could see her own thoughts reflected in his expression. He glanced away quickly, but it was too late—she knew that look well. She wasn’t the only one struggling with the past.

  She plugged in the machine and it hummed as it resumed its cycle as though nothing had happened. As if the ground beneath her feet hadn’t just trembled.

  “Great,” Neil said. “Just FYI—You’re supposed to put those things in a garment washing bag.”

  “Suddenly a connoisseur of women’s delicates?” Damn, that sounded jealous even to her ears.

  “Twelve years is enough time for anyone to change.”

  Was it? Then why did things feel so much the same when she looked at him? Too much time had passed, too much life had happened for both of them—she couldn’t claim to know the man he was now. Yet, her heart insisted it did.

  He glanced around when she remained silent. “Do you have a mop in here somewhere?”

  Oh hell no. There was no way he was cleaning up this mess. “I’ve got it. You’ve done enough.” A little too much, in fact.

  He stood there staring at her, as though years of words unsaid were weighing on him. She held her breath, not liking the unsettling energy that surrounded them, making her hypersensitive to his presence.

  He looked too good, the scent of his familiar cologne smelled too good, and the memories coming to mind were reminding her just how good he could be.

  Which was bad.

  She cleared her throat. “Was there a reason you stopped by?”

  He nodded. “The tux fitting. Holly said you were in charge of that and asked me to come see you.”

  “Right. Yes.” She glanced at the mess. “I’ll deal with this later.”

  “I can wait.”

  And have him in her home longer? No way. “That’s okay. Follow me.”

  Opening the sewing room door a second later, she grabbed one of the garment bags from Mac’s Tuxedo—the shop in Denver where Holly had purchased the four groomsmen tuxes for a steal since they were going out of business. She claimed she was doing the men a favor by not having them rent one for the event, but Becky had had to bite her tongue about the extra work it was, tailoring four tuxes to fit four very differently shaped men. “The bathroom’s down the hall on the right. Just put this on and I’ll pin you…” Her cheeks flushed. “Pin the fabric.”

  Once he disappeared down the hall, she checked her reflection in the three-way mirror. Her unruly light brown waves were extra unruly and her makeup-free face looked old and tired. Unlike her ex, whose laugh lines only enhanced his gorgeous face.

  She released a slow, deep breath. She’d expected this moment—seeing him for the first time—to be difficult, but she hadn’t expected the tightening in her lungs or the odd sense of longing she felt. There was so much she wanted to say, yet she was tongue-tied and caught off
guard. They couldn’t exactly pick up where they’d left off, yet starting over with a new friendship seemed impossible with their shared history. This was the guy who’d been there when she’d gotten her braces put on and removed, the one who’d taken her to every school dance since junior high, who’d watched her blow out her birthday candles every year until she turned twenty. The man she’d spent countless nights talking about a future with…No, starting over was not an option.

  Which left them where?

  Hearing his footsteps in the hallway, she moved away from the mirror and grabbed her pins. “How does it fit?” she asked, relieved to see that the tux fit better than she’d expected.

  Relieved and flustered.

  In the black pants and sleek, form-fitting jacket, Neil looked amazing, even with his T-shirt under it. Her mouth went dry and her palms sweat a little. As a lovesick teenager she’d always envisioned that one day she’d see him in a tux.

  Not exactly like this, though.

  “Okay, just step up here and I’ll mark the hemming.”

  He stood on the block in front of the mirror and was silent as she marked and pinned the length of the pants. Her hands shook slightly and she prayed he wouldn’t notice the bumpy line she’d left with the white chalk.

  Standing, she lifted the back of the jacket to inspect the waistline, and damn if she didn’t sneak a peek at the ass she’d always loved.

  Yep. Still round and tight. Still perfect. She swallowed hard. “Does the waist feel okay?” she asked.

  His gaze met hers in the mirror. He cleared his throat. “Feels a little loose.”

  She collected the fabric and cinched it in the middle, careful not to let her fingers brush against the exposed skin of his lower back. “Better?”

  He nodded. “Yeah,” he said, but his voice sounded slightly hoarse, as though their close proximity was getting to him as well.

  She marked it quickly, then released the fabric and let the jacket fall. She hesitated, staring at his broad back.

  Just treat him like any other groomsman.

  Reluctantly, she ran her hands along his shoulders and fought to control her thundering pulse. She felt him stiffen slightly beneath her touch and heard him release a deep breath.

  The scent of his cologne filled the room around her, and she wondered if he’d applied it for her sake.

  Had his sexy black T-shirt and jeans been on purpose as well?

  She wanted to strangle Holly. A heads-up about his visit would have been appreciated. At least give her a chance to even the playing field a little.

  With what? A freaking evening gown?

  She wasn’t twenty years old anymore, and life was clearly displayed on her face and in the new curves of her body.

  “The jacket seems okay.” She glanced at him through the mirror. “Arms by your sides. Length looks good.” She stared at his hands and her mouth went dry. A simple touch from them used to have her feeling so much. The way he’d tuck her hair behind her ears before kissing her, his warm palms grazing her skin, or the way his fingers would cover hers on the gear shift of his truck as he drove down backroads to their favorite make-out spot. She’d marveled at how quickly they could go from hard and strong when he worked on old dirt bikes and cars in his small garage to tender and loving when he was touching her. She cleared her throat. “That’s it. You’re done.”

  He looked relieved when she moved away. “So, that’s it. We’re good?”

  “Yeah. All good.” Her gaze met his and held until she was certain her lungs had run out of air. “You can change now,” she said quickly, busying herself with putting away the extra pins.

  “Right.” As he walked toward the door, he stopped. “Hey, is this the dress?”

  Oh great. “Yes.”

  “Shit, that’s ugly.”

  Her mouth gaped. “It was your aunt’s dress.”

  “And it was probably ugly when she wore it, too.”

  The laugh that escaped her helped to ease the tension in the room.

  At least for half a second.

  Taking two quick strides toward her, his hands were on her face. Her eyes widened at the feel of the rough palms against her skin. She opened her mouth to speak, but his lips pressed against hers before she could process what was happening.

  What was he doing? What was she doing? That was the better question as her arms circled his neck. And how did the sensation of his mouth on hers feel so damn familiar after all these years?

  Shockingly, the anticipated urge to pull away didn’t appear. Instead, she was more conscious of him than she had ever been of anything in her life. Caught in the moment, her sensitivity to every aspect of him was magnified—the glimpse of chocolate brown beneath his half-closed lids, the light stubble across his jaw, the faint trace of a scar above his right eyebrow that hadn’t been there years before. His lips were soft, yet demanding, as though searching for answers, and she willingly opened herself up to anything he might find.

  When he pulled away a moment later and his lips brushed across hers, she reached for him instead of letting go. All traces of common sense had vanished as the sensations took over.

  He hesitated briefly before connecting their mouths again, his hands tangling in her hair. Pressing her hands to his chest, she felt the contours of his muscles, hard and smooth, through the material of his T-shirt, and her body tingled with a longing she hadn’t felt in four years, two months, and ten days. Or maybe it was longer.

  The thought caused her to step back.

  He moved away quickly, his hands falling away from her.

  “Damn. That was awful,” he muttered, running a hand over his face and chin.

  “Wow.” First, he kissed her out of nowhere—a mind-blowing, knee-weakening kiss that had stirred long repressed emotions and desires—and then he insulted her?

  “Not the kiss itself…just the kiss. I should get out of here.” He turned to leave. “Sorry about that.” Without waiting for a response, he left the room, and a second later, she heard the bathroom door close down the hall.

  Releasing a deep breath, her mind raced. Why had she allowed that to happen? What was wrong with them? The first time alone together in years and the sexual tension between them had them acting like hormonal teenagers. She’d dated several men since Rob’s death, but she couldn’t even remember kissing them beyond a quick goodnight peck on the cheek. No one had spurred her body to react the way Neil just had.

  The way he always had.

  Hearing him approach, she met him in the hall. “Great, thank you,” she said, taking the tux. “You can pick it up from Holly’s next week.” Inviting him back there wasn’t happening, and she ignored her disappointment at the thought.

  His expression clouded, but he nodded as he headed toward the front door.

  Opening it, he stepped outside, and she shivered as the early December mountain breeze blew her shoulder-length hair across her face. She tried to tuck it behind her ears, but her wispy bangs flew right back into her eyes. Unfortunately, they didn’t block the sexiest view on the planet—Neil Healy walking away toward his motorcycle.

  How much longer could he get away with driving that thing anyway? Come on, snow!

  As he reached for his helmet, he paused. “About what just happened…”

  She shook her head. “We really don’t have to talk about it.” In fact, she’d be willing to never talk about it. Her flushed expression was already saying far too much.

  “Okay.” He went to put on the helmet, but stopped again.

  Oh God, just drive away. For some reason, she was unable to close the door and go inside.

  “But I want you to know I didn’t mean to insult you by saying the kiss was terrible.”

  Awful was his exact wording. “It’s fine, really.” He looked ready to try to explain again, so she continued before he could. “I should get back to Holly’s dress.”

  “Maybe we could go to dinner or something sometime?” He appeared as shocked by the question as she w
as.

  “No.”

  “Just no?”

  She sighed. “Just no.”

  Neil nodded slowly. “He’s a lucky guy,” he said, a hint of jealousy evident in his voice.

  She blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Whoever that thong was for. He’s a lucky guy,” he said, putting on his helmet and revving the bike.

  She wondered what he’d think if he knew this “lucky guy” was fifteen-year-old Al at the grocery store and that Neil’s unexpected, untimely kiss was the best action she’d actually gotten in years.

  * * *

  He couldn’t get out of the driveway fast enough.

  What the hell had he been thinking? Kissing her, asking her to dinner. What happened to steering clear of the woman who broke his heart twelve years ago? The woman he’d been planning on proposing to once he returned from basic training, only to have her end things instead. He sped away from the house.

  Becky hadn’t wanted a military life back then, and he suspected her opinion on that hadn’t changed over the years. She hadn’t liked the danger his job entailed, the tours overseas, and the uncertainty of a future with him.

  But then she’d married a cop.

  Anger simmered below the surface of so many conflicting emotions. She hadn’t been willing to even take a chance on a life with him, but then she’d walked straight into the arms of someone else whose career was just as dangerous.

  Of course her concerns had been horribly validated. He’d heard about Rob’s death through his cousin, and he’d been tempted to reach out to Becky, to offer his condolences…but after so long with no contact between them, it hadn’t felt right.

  Oh, but kissing her the first time you see her in twelve years feels right?

  The problem was, it had. Just seeing her had made his heart pound in his chest, and when she’d touched his shoulders in the tuxedo jacket, his body had ached to feel her hands on him everywhere. Old memories had lingered in the tension between them, and the moment he’d heard her laugh—a laugh he’d once have done anything to hear—all bets were off. He hadn’t been able to control the impulse that had come over him.