Letting Go(21)
“No, but I intend to.”
“So last night wasn’t a dream then.”
He leaned over the counter so they were face-to-face, their gazes locked. “It was a dream. My dream. Now all we have to do is make it reality.”
“You make it sound so simple,” she murmured.
“It is. Or it isn’t. It’s what we choose to make it. Me? I’m a straightforward guy, but then you know that already. I’ve waited long enough, so you’ll have to excuse my impatience now that what I want is within reach.”
“How is this supposed to work, Dash? I spent all night thinking—wondering—what this all means. Before it was surreal. It was in the abstract. Not real and in my face. I fantasized. I wondered. I even conjured up various scenarios. But now that it’s here, right in front of me, I don’t know what to do. What to expect.”
“Why don’t we both eat. We’ll talk over breakfast and I’ll answer any question you want the answer to. But as I warned you last night, if you’re unprepared for the answer, it’s best you don’t ask.”
She nodded. “No, I want the truth. I want the reality. I need to know what this means. What me being with you means.”
He reached over to squeeze her hand. “Head over to the breakfast nook. I’ll grab our plates and meet you there.”
He watched as she shuffled the short distance, holding the mug of coffee between her palms as if trying to infuse her entire body with its warmth. He’d much rather wrap himself around her. He’d give her all the warmth she needed and so much more.
Patience, Dash. Don’t blow this, man. Not when you’re so fucking close. You’ve waited too long for this.
He tempered his eagerness and took his time gathering the plates and bringing them to the table where Joss sat. She just looked . . . right. In his house, wearing his clothes, still slightly rumpled from just coming from bed, even with her hair blow-dried from her shower. The only thing that would make it better is if she’d just come from his bed.
Soon enough.
He slid the plate in front of her, watching her eyes widen, a broad smile curving her lips.
“My favorite,” she said huskily.
He smiled back at her. “Of course. Did you think I’d serve you anything else? Waffles with lots of butter and even more syrup. Dig in and enjoy. I’ll bring back milk and the bacon.”
She sighed. “I do love them but I can’t indulge often. Too many calories!”
He shook his head as he returned again with their drinks and the plate of bacon. “There isn’t a thing wrong with the way you look, Joss. Utter perfection from the top of your pretty head to the tip of those pretty pink toes you sport.”
She flushed, her cheeks going a shade of pink that nearly matched those toes.
“I don’t know how to take this . . . this change in our relationship. I’m off balance. Just yesterday I was planning to let go of you much the way I had to let go of Carson. And now . . .”
She lifted her hand in bewilderment and let it fall back to her lap.
“That wasn’t happening,” he said mildly. “You may have thought you were getting rid of me, honey, but I’m not going anywhere. I would have waited for as long as it took, but there was never a question of me making a move. You just happened to make it first.”
He watched her process his declaration, the brief furrow of her brows as they knitted in consternation. As though she was still trying to understand everything he’d dumped on her in the last twenty-four hours. And then she lowered her gaze, effectively putting an end to her silent contemplation.
She dug into her waffles and he watched, savoring her enjoyment over the breakfast he’d prepared for her. She ate as she did everything else. Artlessly. No self-consciousness. She was a woman unafraid to show her pleasure over even the simplest things. And he intended to bring her a hell of a lot more pleasure than waffles for breakfast. He had in mind a hundred ways he wanted to spoil her.
“Now, you wanted to know how this works. What exactly do you mean?” he asked.
Her fork stilled in midair on its way to her mouth. Then she lowered it, licking her lips in agitation.
“You have to know, I mean you do know now, that I’m completely new to this. I told you the things I wanted, but you haven’t told me what you want. How you expect this to work. What you’ll want of me. What you’ll do to me.”
She shivered as she said the last, and he hoped she was imagining all those things he’d do to her. And that those images intrigued and aroused her as much as they did him.
“I think the question is, what do you want me to do to—with—you.”