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Chapter 37

37

" U nrelenting," she said, holding her cup and smelling her Mighty Leaf fragrant African Nectar rooibos tea. She'd been so distracted since he'd gotten there that she'd forgotten to ask if he was okay with that type of caffeine-free brew. That would be a first for her: not asking a guest what their favorite type of tea was, easily reaching into her well-stocked pantry, and providing it.

"I have to live up to the clichéd Italian standards," he said. He was purely Mediterranean charm, and Sol didn't understand how she'd been able to overlook that side of him when they first met. That Greg Knight disguise concealed a lot.

"Oh, you do live up to them," she told him.

"I'm glad you're no longer cross with me."

"Why?" she asked, and she immediately felt like she'd asked the stupidest question.

"Because I've been thinking about the night at your terrace in Barcelona non-stop."

He didn't seem to mind that she wasn't sounding her sharpest that night. His eyes were fully on her, his gaze starving.

"You liked the views," Sol said almost timidly. If she was going to play that game with him, she needed to find the courage to do it. Now.

"I liked the view ."

Luke's eyes weren't leaving hers. Not even to blink.

"Are we doing this again?" she asked, suddenly reassured. She closed the minimal distance between the two of them.

"Please." His face was a couple of centimeters from hers, and she could smell the saltiness of the sea on his breath.

She left her cup on the table, reaching with her right hand to his face, wanting to feel that rebellious lock of hair that had been torturing her all night. But she stopped herself. She needed to know something first.

"Are you going to leave like the last time?" she asked, her tone no longer mischievous.

"This time you know who and what I am," he said, looking even deeper into her eyes as if wanting her to know he was being sincere. "So, no."

He drew nearer to her and kissed her, trailing his lips along hers, drawing her mouth apart with his. Even if that was the kind of touch that had been on both their minds when they'd agreed to a midnight meeting, Sol was still surprised by it.

After her latest relationship, she'd almost resigned herself never to relive the thrill of a first kiss surrounded by the night lights of her hometown, a second kiss enveloped in the darkness of her adoptive home city.

London's night flowed in through the skylight of her deliberately dim-lit kitchen as she untangled Luke's unruly curls and surveyed the line of his profile with her hands. Their kiss was unhurried and tender in a way that almost took her back to the velvety feel of a summer love in her teenage years. How long had it been since she'd caressed—and been caressed—in that unhasty manner?

"Sol," he said. He made her name sound Italian, elongating the final L. She liked the sound of her name in his mouth. It was almost as delicious as that kiss.

"What?" she asked him, dazed.

"Do you want to dance?" Music had been playing in the background all this time, and Otis Redding was currently intoning the notes of "Cigarettes and Coffee."

"Yes," she said, surprised again. She couldn't remember when she'd last danced—alone or with someone else.

He rose, reaching out his hand to take hers. She stood up in front of him, accepting his proposal. She linked her hands around his neck, placing her head at the nook of his neck and shoulder, and inhaled his smokey scent while they circled the kitchen, following the music's sensual rhythm.

She felt so comfortable there, dancing in her London kitchen with Luke, that it took her half the song to finally lift her face from where she'd been resting on his sexy collarbone.She took her hand to his unshaven jaw and kissed him again.

She wasn't prepared for the electricity that hit her when he kissed her back. She felt his tongue in her mouth; his hands on her waist, along her back, under her hoodie; his solid body against hers.

She found herself pinned between the compactness of Luke and the fridge, and that closeness to his whole breadth made her crave him. Impatience had always been one of her least endearing qualities, and she hadn't invited Luke to midnight tea just to dance and kiss, after all.

He read her yearning and lifted her with more ease than she would have anticipated, setting her on the kitchen counter. They were done pretending there was any more dancing going on.

His lips traced the sensitive area behind her earlobe, her neck, the contour of her clavicle.

She moved to the edge of the counter. Her legs were parted, her body claiming his proximity. She took her hand under his T-shirt, pulling him toward her, exploring the contours of his torso.

She felt intoxicated even if she hadn't drunk a drop of alcohol since her stay in Barcelona. He was making her dizzy. The last time she'd been this horny, she was reading a Sarah J. Maas novel and picturing Jessica Chastain and (a perhaps taller) Oscar Isaac in the smut-filled chapters after a swoony joint appearance on the red carpet by the two of them that had her reeling for days.

She suddenly felt overcome and overwhelmed. Stunned, even. You definitely aren't too old for me, he'd once texted her. Did she believe him? It wasn't like he hadn't lied to her before. Was she ready to let this thirty-something-year-old get more acquainted with her toned-but-still-not-that-young-anymore forty-two-year-old body?

She needed to collect herself.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think we should call it a night," she managed to mutter under her ragged breath.

He slowly freed himself from her touch. "I'll go," he said. If he was disappointed with the turn the night had taken, his expression didn't show it. "Is it because I lied to you?"

"No," she said. He was still standing in front of her in the kitchen. "Maybe… It's just that I like taking things slowly."

He offered his hand to help her off the counter, but she declined and descended to the kitchen floor by herself. She feared another touch of his skin would cause her to succumb to his allure and make her keep him for the whole night.

But she wanted to maintain her cool. If only for once during her whole history with him, she needed to feel she was making a rational, dispassionate decision.

"Slow is good," he told her with a devastating smile. "Can I kiss you one last time before leaving?"

"Yes," she pleaded more than assented.

So much for keeping your fucking cool, Sol . The moment his lips touched hers, she'd be lost.

But he didn't go for her mouth. His lips chased the line of her cheekbone instead, not kissing her as much as branding her skin with his breath.

"It's going to be five awkward minutes of me putting my socks and boots on before I leave," he told her, fixing his eyes on her one last time then heading to the entryway.

"Awkward is good," she said.

If he was in a hurry to leave her place and get home, he didn't show it. Sol felt a bit like a voyeur following his moves while he dressed his feet in almost deliberately slow movements. When he finished, he stood up, gave her one last lust-filled look, and opened the door to leave.

"We should meet for tea again soon," he said.

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