Page 107 of No Match Found
A shiver ran down my spine as his fingertips pressed into my sides.
I nodded.
His right hand slid from my waist to the small of my back, then pulled me against him as he stared down at me. “How about this?”
I nodded again. My heart knocked at my ribs like someone pounding on a door to be let in.
His eyes traced every part of my face, like they were planning where to go next. He leaned in, his lips brushing the line of my jaw. “And this?”
I swallowed, shutting my eyes as each whisper of contact set off fireworks in my chest. I tried for—and barely managed—a nod.
His lips migrated so slowly I almost thought I was imagining it. They skimmed my jawline, moved to my cheek, then toward my mouth.
I grasped two fistfuls of his shirt, eagerness shooting through me like cracks in thin ice.
“And this?” The question was a whisper, like the press of his lips against the right corner of my mouth.
A huff of impatience escaped me, and I pulled his mouth where I wanted it. His lips stretched into a little smirk againstmine, like he took a thrill in knowing how badly I wanted him—how completely done I was with needing space.
But the smile faded, and soon both of us were totally and entirely focused on making up for the seconds we’d been apart, on undoing every minute of space he’d given me. My world was going up in flames around me, but all I cared about was the fire every drift of his hands and every shift of his lips ignited inside me.
My hip bumped something, and I pulled back. We’d migrated to the kitchen island. My gaze snagged on the Jericho Rose.
His followed, and he brightened. “You watered it.”
“You might’ve told me, you know.”
“I did. I specifically told you to.”
“You might as well have told me to water my coffee table. That thing looked beyond dead.”
He took my waist in hands, then picked me up and set me on the island. “But it wasn’t.” He stepped into the space between my knees, and I rested my arms on his shoulders.
“Why did you give it to me?” I asked.
He searched my face, his dark eyes staring into mine. “Because I love you.”
THIRTY-THREE
Grant Wilder loved me.
They were the words I’d been wanting to hear. Needing to hear.
I wanted to pull the words to my chest where they would absorb into my body and become part of me. Part of me that could never be taken away.
But I’d been loved before, and that love had been taken away. It hadn’t survived.
What would I do if I had Grant’s love and then lost it?
To assume things would be any different this time was to believe something the data didn’t support. Not just the data from my experience with Chase—the data my own product had given me.
Grant and I were a 12% match. Even relationships between people who were a 95% match had a high probability of failing.
I forced a smile onto my lips. “You say that now.”
“Yes, Vivian.” He splayed his fingers on my thighs. “I do say that now. And I mean it.”
I looked at his hands, then set mine over his. “For now.”
