And why is that, do you suppose?
She ignored the voice in her head, instead walking with him to the table and grabbing her purse. His mother had already left, as had Davy and Sheryl, probably off to their respective hotel rooms. A quick scan showed Riley dancing with a pretty woman in a pale-peach dress—bridesmaid, she registered. She picked up her purse and then looked at Aiden with a nod.
He had an arm around her, gently guiding her to the stairs. He was on the upstairs floor. She noticed his hand was shaking slightly as he pulled out his key card and opened the door, then held it open and gestured her inside.
She vaguely took in the room. It was cute, with hardwood floors, and a chair and desk, and what looked like a big bathtub in the bathroom beyond. But what dominated the room—and her attention—was the giant king-size bed with a dark craftsman headboard.
Perfect to hang on to.
She startled. What was she thinking? It had been a while since she’d had sex, and honestly, even then it had been pretty vanilla and infrequent.
Maybe it was deprivation?
She turned to find Aiden staring at her, a small, happy, eager smile on his face, his eyes shining.
Nope. It’s definitely the guy.
The fact that it was Aiden, who had always been consistently kind and understanding to her, who had always listened and supported her . . . that seemed to dial the intensity up to eleven.
She shivered, and it had nothing to do with her having left her coat at the coat check the hotel had set up for the wedding. He was looking at her like she was the most sumptuous dessert he’d ever seen and he hadn’t indulged his sweet tooth in too long.
“Is this weird?” she asked, putting her purse down, feeling nervous.
He wrinkled his nose a little, and even that was adorable. She was losing her mind.
“Because I’m demi, you mean?”
“Maybe?” She hadn’t quite meant that. Well, perhaps she had meant that, now that she thought it through. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Ever. And I’ll be honest, I really don’t know what the boundaries are, and I don’t have any expectations, and I know we probably ought to talk . . .”
He stroked her arms softly, his gray eyes shining, and he shook his head. “It’s not uncomfortable,” he murmured. “Trust me.”
She swallowed hard. She could feel her pulse like a bass drum in her throat, almost a tangible bump. She swayed a little closer to him.
“What did you want to talk about?” she murmured, smoothing her hands along his chest, moving them around until she was hugging him. It wasn’t like their usual hug-hellos—which she hadn’t realized had become “usual” until that moment.
“I like you.” He huffed out a laugh, tucking her head under his chin and squeezing her a little. “God, that sounds so high school, doesn’t it? I mean, I’m interested in you.”
She felt her cheeks heat, and she squirmed. “Really?”
“In a relationship-type way.”
Man, the way his voice reverberated through that barrel chest was amazing. Even better when she got to lay her cheek against his sternum, feeling all that bass rumble through her. “Mmm.”
“You have an opinion about that?” he teased gently . . . but she could sense an underlying tension. Which, given his romantic history, was completely reasonable. Actually, even without his romantic history, putting yourself out there with someone you were interested in was terrifying.
She was grateful he’d gone first.
“I’m interested in you too,” she admitted, then rubbed her face against him, like she could snuggle into his chest and smother all the embarrassment out of herself. “But I didn’t want to pressure you. Also, honestly, I didn’t quite know what to do about it.”
“I have a few ideas,” he volunteered dryly, and she laughed into his dress shirt. Then abruptly remembered she was wearing makeup and yanked herself away, checking for residue. “You okay?”
“Forgot I looked like a grown-up for a minute there,” she admitted, and he laughed.
“I think you look beautiful,” he said, with a little half smile. “Then again—I always thought you were beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”
He stroked her cheek before cupping her chin in his large palm. “It’s more than looks. You aren’t like anybody I’ve ever met. You’re snarky and snarly and sweet and generous. You’re helpful and kind and act like a honey badger to anyone who tries to point it out. You aren’t as mean as you think, but you’re not to be messed with either. You’re brave and smart and loyal and funny. You are amazing.”
God, why were her eyes starting to prickle with tears? She cleared her throat, taking a quick swipe at them with the back of a hand. “You’re amazing,” she pointed out. “You’re consistently compassionate in situations that would have me shrieking like a banshee. You’re patient, and empathetic, and helpful. You care about people, at a time when I swear I’d have left every last fuck behind.”
He snickered. Then he pressed slow kisses against her jawline, his hands moving up to weave into the waves that brushed her shoulders. She sighed softly, submitting to his ministrations.
“You’re also, um, hot,” she whispered.
She gasped when he brushed his beard down her neck, before pressing open-mouthed kisses along her exposed clavicle. She closed her eyes, then let out a little huff.
“Super hot,” she muttered, almost to herself. “Are we . . . should we . . .”
“Just spit it out, Boggy,” he teased, and it was just what she needed.
“Are we going to have sex?” She laughed, shaking her head at herself. “I haven’t had sex with someone else in five years. I haven’t dated anyone in over twenty. I don’t know how to do any of this.” She wondered if she looked as lost as she felt.
He let out a breath, tugging her to sit down on the bed and sitting next to her. “First, I’m in no rush,” he said, and she chuckled again, a little nervously, wondering if that should’ve been her line. “Second, I haven’t dated in over ten years, and I haven’t had sex in that same amount of time.”
“So we’re the blind leading the blind here,” she summarized.
“So, we don’t have to do anything,” he countered. “That said, we don’t have to follow any kind of rules either. I know I’m attracted to you. Really attracted,” he added, his eyes heated. “But there’s no pressure.”
She swallowed. “We could make out,” she ventured. “See how it goes?”
“That sounds good.” He grinned in response. Then he leaned down, and covered her mouth with his.
It had been ages since she’d really been kissed. As her marriage had gone on, and gone south, kissing had become something that fell by the wayside . . . a perfunctory peck here and there, something that accompanied a greeting or goodbye. She couldn’t believe how turned on just pressing her lips to his got her. She felt like she was getting the spins, but in a good way, feeling overwhelmed and yet dreamily floating in the sensations. She moaned softly as he tugged her tightly to him, tilting his head and feasting on her lips like she was the best dessert he’d ever had. His tongue tangled with hers lazily, and she almost forgot how to breathe.