Page 62 of Tempted Hearts
Could she see me looking?
I was awash in darkness, but enough light carried through the room that, by her expression, I was pretty certain she saw enough.
Neither of us moved.
The silence stretched, thick and charged, every unspoken thought pressed between us. The stairwell flashed through my mind—her back against the wall, the way she’d gone still beneath my hands before the moment could turn into something neither of us was ready to face.
This felt worse.
Slower.
Heavier.
“Cole.”
She whispered my name like she wasn’t sure she should be saying it at all.
I was on my feet before I’d decided anything.
I crossed the space between us, stopping at the edge of her bed, my pulse hammering loud enough I was sure she could hear it. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t look uncertain. Just watched me, eyes dark, waiting.
I bent over her and kissed her.
This time, there was no hesitation.
Her mouth opened beneath mine with a soft sound that went straight through me, and the restraint I’d been clinging to for days fractured. The kiss was slow, deliberate, every ounce of longing we’d held back pouring into it. My hand fisted in the sheets beside her head, the only thing keeping me anchored.
For one dangerous second, I forgot everything except the way her lips fit against mine. The way she kissed me back like she’d been waiting.
I pulled away.
Breathing hard, forehead resting against hers, I closed my eyes.
“If I don’t stop now,” I said quietly, “I won’t.”
Her hand brushed my wrist. Not stopping me. Not urging me closer. Just there.
When I straightened, the space between us was an unwanted gulf.
Nothing about this could be undone.
And we both knew it.
24
JULES
“Earth to Jules.”
Delaney sat across from me at The Coffee Cabin, her coffee pushed aside as she held her wrist out, turning it slowly so I could admire the bracelet she’d designed for a client. Gold wire wrapped around tiny emerald beads, delicate but intentional. Very her.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s the same tone you use when you’re thinking about murder scenes.”
I leaned back against the bench and exhaled. “Sorry. I was thinking about my next scene. Something about it just isn’t flowing.”
“Your scene,” she repeated. “Uh-huh.”
