Page 43 of With Love, from Cold World
He rubbed his hands on his jean-clad thighs. They were sitting close enough that the motion ruffled the hem of her skirt a little, caused it to flip up and reveal the barest extra millimeter of skin. It was such a micro movement, and yet Lauren noticed it. Somehow, she knew Asa had, too.
“You got an unauthorized question,” he said, his voice rough. “It’s only fair if I get one.”
She lifted her chin. “Fine. In the interest of fairness.”
“Did you want me to kiss you?”
Don’t look at his mouth. Don’t look at his mouth.She was trying to keep her cool during this conversation, and it wouldn’t work if she saw his lips forming those words. She knew it wasuseless to deny it outright—why would she have even brought it up in the first place? At the same time, this conversation felt like a minefield, and she was scared to take the next step.
“I thought it would be nice,” she said finally, smoothing the crinkled hem of her skirt back down. “It’s kind of a nice tradition.”
“No,” he said, tilting his head, like he was trying to get her attention, or searching her face for an answer to some question. It was impossible not to look up, not to stare at his mouth. There was a small scar on his lower lip, a perfect circle that must’ve been from a piercing at some point. She watched the corner of his mouth, waiting for it to quirk up, for a sign that he was laughing at her. But for once, he looked completely serious.
“I meant, did you wantmeto kiss you?”
The emphasis on that one word said it all. He wasn’t asking if she wanted a generic mistletoe kiss at a holiday party. He was asking if she cared that the kiss came specifically fromhim.
Even a few weeks ago, Lauren would’ve said of course not. She barely knew Asa Williamson, and what she knew of him made it clear a friendship between them would be unlikely. Anything more than friendship evenmoreunlikely. He was well-liked, easygoing, and confident. She was uptight and nervous and shy. He’d probably kissed a dozen people for no reason other than he felt like it, whereas she was always holding back, scared to put herself out there for fear of rejection.
That same instinct told her now that this would all be over if she simply said no, notyou.It could’ve been anyone, she could say.You just happened to be there.
Instead she said one word, which came out more like a sigh. “Yes.”
His hand clenched on his knee. She could feel him humming with a low frequency beside her—although maybe that was a projection, an echo of the unbearable tension she felt in her own body. She pressed her thighs together, taking a deep breath to slow her heart rate.
She glanced at him, trying to give him a look likeWell, this is awkward, but he didn’t look capable of cracking his usual joke.
“Let me make it up to you,” he said. And then his fingers were at her jaw, tilting her face toward his, and his mouth was on hers.
It started off almost sweet, almost like the kiss they would’ve had under the mistletoe a year ago in front of all their coworkers. He pressed his lips to hers for the second that would’ve been appropriate for that kiss, but just when she expected him to pull away, he urged her mouth open with his tongue. He tasted of hot chocolate and courage, and she opened up for him, kissing him back like she wanted both for herself.
His hand was splayed full across her cheek by now, a warm imprint on her skin, and she felt suddenly dizzy at the idea that he was touching her, that she could touch him back. His ink-covered arms, his broad shoulders, the strip of skin where his T-shirt rode up... she was greedy for all of it.
But she was too shy to assert herself like that, so she settled for resting her hands lightly on his thighs. The denim was rough beneath her fingertips, and she tried not to press hard enough to feel the heat of him through the fabric. Already her stomach was a swirling flame, licking up into her chest as he deepened the kiss.
“Touch me,” he said.
Her hands tightened reflexively. So much for not feeling the heat. “Where?”
He smiled against her mouth. “Anywhere.”
She skimmed up his arms, pressing her thumb into the branches of the tree tattoo, letting her fingertips slide under his shirt sleeve to reveal the rest of it. He watched her with a hooded expression, giving a slight shudder when she scraped her nails against the dimple in his shoulder.
“I’ve never really cared for tattoos,” she said, and could’ve kicked herself. Why would she say something likethatnow?
“Oh yeah?”
She swallowed, giving him a sheepish smile. “I seem to be kind of fixated on yours.”
“ ’S all right,” he said. “I don’t mind being objectified.”
He reached up, lifted the glasses off her face. He folded them gently before placing them on top of the fake moss in the potted ficus. “I’ve never seen you without your glasses,” he said, smoothing her temples with his fingertips.
She let out a small huff of a laugh. “That’s because I need them to see.”
It was scarier, when they slowed down like this. It gave her time to think about what they were doing, to wonder if they were making a huge mistake. Even if Asa was determined to have a do-over of the mistletoe kiss, surely they were long past that now. She’d have to see him at work tomorrow—later today, technically. She’d have to look him in the eye knowing all the things they’d revealed to each other, all the places their hands had been.
At the same time, she didn’t want to stop. They’d onlykissedand she was aching down to her core, crying out for more of his hands, his mouth...
