“Eli,” she rasps as she looks at me with pleading eyes, “please don’t play—”
“I couldn’t if I wanted to, Bee,” I murmur, crushing her mouth with mine as she gasps against my lips, opening intuitively. Our tongues start to dance and then tangle as we lock together, our mouths fusing naturally, so naturally, it causes a surreal sort of shift in my chest.
It’s then I struggle to keep the waiting beast in me leashed, who’s grown hungrier on every one of our six dates. It’s also this very reason right here I’ve been hesitant to get intimate with her. Not because I don’t like her incessant chatter, or her quirks, or her endless badgering, or her cute jabs, or the fact that she’s always ten minutes late for everything. It’s the raw feeling in my chest now that caused me to wait, selfishly hoping that some of those quirks would turn me off to the point I would stop my pursuit. If I at all found a flaw in any of it, I might have had a chance of walking away.
With just one taste of her, I know I’m fucked. It was this very feeling that had me chasing her, and it’s the same feeling that’s rocking me to my core now.
Surprised by just how powerful the kiss feels, I pull away and stare down at her to see her eyes are half-mast, her lips beautifully swollen, an image I will never be able to erase.
I’m so fucked.
“Eli,” she whispers breathlessly, as though she’s seeing me in the same light. Intent on more, greedy as fuck for it, I brace myself for impact, intent on kissing her until my legs or lips or both give out. I’m saved by the elevator when it dings, and the doors start to open.
“Come inside,” she rasps softly, as temptation tents my jeans, and we get lingering looks from her neighbors as they pass us before entering their apartment.
“Next time.”
Instead of arguing with me or tempting me further, she leans back against the door and beams up at me. “I knew you wanted to kiss me.”
“How did I fair?”
“Promise not to let your head explode if I’m honest?”
“Absolutely not.”
We share a smile. “Then maybe I’ll keep it to myself.”
“I’ll coax it out of you,” I murmur, diving in for another taste and pulling away just before the lust threatens what brain cells I have remaining.
“I look forward to it,” she whispers. “Good night, Eli.”
“Good night, Whitney.”
“I’d have to be a corpse to miss what’s going on,” Thatch says, interrupting my memory and catching me eyeing the closed front door. “Are you planning on doing something about that?”
I glance toward Brenden—who stands at the end of the driveway—shoveling snow onto the pile to reinforce our bank, his warning about my involvement with Whitney on the forefront.
“It’s complicated.”
“Just a heads up, she’s a Collins girl, so it’s always going to be complicated.” I feel the insinuation in his tone. “Trust me, that’s not a hurdle any man can clear easily.” He shakes his head as Peyton wiggles in his hold. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s worth it. There’s a lot to be said for the Collins women, but they expect a lot.”
“I’m familiar. She was an utter pain in the ass when we dated.”
“But the reward is how much they give.” Thatch sighs.
“I’m very aware of that too.”
“Not that I’m in any position to preach at the moment. Nearly twenty years together, and I’m just as clueless as I was day one.”
“You’ve been in this family a long time. I wouldn’t dismiss that.”
“I’m not, trust me. I can say I’ve earned my seat at the table. But like I said, I’d have to be a dead man not to see.” He glances over at me. “And it’s not one-sided.”
“She’s made it clear she wants me nowhere near her table.”
“You’re too smart to truly believe that. I’ve witnessed a lot over the years. She’s brought a few decent guys home, but none of them stuck. And none of them were on the receiving end of the looks she’s been giving you, if that helps.”
“It does. Thanks, man.”
“Thing about Whitney,” he adds, a slight edge of warning in his voice, “she’s not just my sister-in-law. She’s one of the people I’m closest to, so if you can’t back the looks you’re giving her up—”
“Message received,” I say.