“And if I did?”
“Stop it!”
He grins. I hear it in his voice. “Why? Because you don’t like it? Or because you don’t think you should?”
I turn bright red. Reaching down, I swat his ass back. “Put me down, you caveman.”
Immediately he stops and crouches, letting me slide down his body.
I’m a little wobbly, and I grip his arm, steadying myself as he slips a hand around my waist to steady me, too. Words evaporate on my tongue as I stare up at him, his face cast in sharp moonlight and shadowy darkness, as the wind rattles bare branches and whips between our houses.
“Why did you tell me not to kiss you yet?” he asks quietly.
I stand there, silent longer than I’d like, struggling for the courage to explain myself, to confess that I’m scared of how much last night meant to me and I’m scared it isn’t the same for him—that for him this is a low-stakes bet, and for me, it’s the wager of my life.
“I’ll tell you,” I promise. “Soon. Just . . . not yet.”
His jaw tenses. “You keep saying that—not yet.”
I smile softly. “And I mean it.”
He sighs, hanging his head. “Let me get my jacket.”
He darts away up the stairs to his back porch, punching in the lock code, then disappearing inside. I wander slowly toward his house, inspecting it. Oddly, it looks a little outdated and weather-beaten. The windows are the same ones I grew up seeing, at least thirty years old. The paint on the sill is peeling here and there. The house’s exterior looks tidy but worn down.
Christopher’s got more money than God. So why hasn’t he used it to keep up the place?
“Let’s go.” He’s beside me before I realize it, breaking me from my reverie.
Setting his hand low on my back, he guides me between our houses toward the street we’ll walk down to catch the train. Heat spills from his hand through my jacket. I feel his fingers curl in on my body, his palm sliding to my waist, then drawing me closer. Looking up at him, I’m breathless for a moment. His dark hair’s everywhere in the wind, the lamplight dancing down his thick brows and lashes, that strong nose and sensual mouth, the sharp line of his jaw. He’s so beautiful, it makes me ache.
Maybe I do feel ready for some kissing after all.
“So.” I clear my throat, biting my lip. “The kissing thing.”
He peers down at me. “The kissing thing.”
“I thought maybe I needed . . . a break, until we talked some things over, but . . .” My gaze drifts up to his, again. “I think maybe I was wrong.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Maybe?”
“I’m undecided, so I say we settle this the old-fashioned way. If you win, you can kiss me, whenever you want. If I win, you won’t kiss me until I say.”
“Wait, win what—”
Gently pulling away from his arm wrapped around me, I call over my shoulder, pointing to the train stop, “Race ya.”
It’s the fastest I’ve ever seen him run.
* * *
—
For how fast we raced to the train stop, we’re just as slow walking to my apartment. Christopher hasn’t touched me since he beat me to the train stop.
Which, I will admit, I’m confused about.
Everything about the way he was looking at me at my parents’ during dinner, when he threw me over his shoulder in the yard, made me think the second he won he’d haul me into his arms and kiss me senseless.
But here we are, Christopher with his hands in his pockets, walking beside me, glancing my way every once in a while, watching me in that intent way of his.
Stopping outside my apartment, I turn to face him, fighting and losing the battle against a shiver. His brow furrows as he frowns, his hands rubbing up and down my arms. “You need a real winter jacket, Kate. Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
I let him turn me toward the building, my hands shaking with cold and nerves as I unlock the main door, which Christopher shuts securely behind us. I jog up the stairs to my apartment door and then start to unlock that one, too, then think twice, stopping myself.
Turning back, I clutch the doorknob and peer up at him.
Christopher tips his head, confused. “What’s going on?”
“Why haven’t you kissed me?” I ask him. “Even though you won the race.”
Holding my eyes, he steps closer, his hands traveling my arms again, drifting around my back, pulling me toward him. “I don’t want to take something you don’t want to give.”