Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(112)

—Wex Legal Dictionary





**Kat**





Seamus didn’t stay long.

Based on the way Dan continued to look at his brother, I made no attempt to shake Seamus’s hand, let alone embrace him when he left. Dan escorted him to the door, glared at him while he waved goodbye to me, and turned every single deadbolt after he left.

Mumbling something about changing the locks under his breath, Dan gave me a distracted half-smile, placed a kiss on my cheek, and removed himself to the study. He didn’t close the door, leaving a sliver of light spilling into the family room. Leaning against the entryway wall, I stared at that sliver of light for an indeterminate period of time—longer than ten minutes, shorter than a half hour—debating my next move.

It was bedtime. He was waiting for me to go to sleep first. I didn’t want to go to sleep without him. I wanted to be with him. But I didn’t know if that was a good idea.

You’re falling in love with him.

I swallowed past a tightness in my throat, breathing through a painful flare, immobilized by . . . fear.

You’re afraid.

I straightened from the wall, because I refused to be afraid. I was going to march in there and spend time with him. We were going to kiss, somehow I’d make that happen, and I would not allow fear to make my decisions.

Solid plan.

But then the light switched off and Dan strolled out again, pushing his fingers through his hair as he walked to the stairs. I watched him go, taking them slowly, tiredly, his chest rising and falling with a big sigh.

For the first time since we’d fooled around last week in Chicago and my anxieties had taken over—and I’d failed miserably—I wanted to try again. I wanted his hands on me. The mere thought filled me with renewed anticipatory restlessness.

Where Dan was concerned, anticipatory restlessness had become a chronic condition.

As soon as he made it to the landing and turned towards our room, I tiptoed to the base of the stairs and climbed them, my heart beating in my throat.

No need to freak out. You’re not even allowed to orgasm.

No. Orgasming.

Just. Touching.

And enjoying.

I nodded, figuring I could do that. I could enjoy myself. I enjoyed knitting, didn’t I? And cheese. I knew how to enjoy things, how to savor. All I had to do was apply the same principles to being with Dan.

Dan is cheese.

I made a face at that, because as much as I loved cheese, Dan definitely wasn’t cheese. Maybe a fine wine? He was intoxicating, so it was an apt analogy. Of note, wine goes with cheese. Maybe I was the cheese.

As I rounded the corner to the hall, thinking about wine and cheese pairings, I collided with a fine wine—er, Dan.

But we didn’t just collide, we crashed into each other with enough force that, for a second, I thought I was going to tumble backward down the steps. The impact jarred me, scattering my wits.

I flailed, reaching out and grabbing on to him. Dan sucked in a startled breath and he caught me by the shoulders, saving me from the tumble.

“Holy shit. You scared me.” He pulled me forward, taking several steps away from the stairs.

“I scared me too,” I admitted, huffing a laugh. It might have been slightly hysterical.

Shaking his head, he removed his hands from me, carefully setting me away, and pushed his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t hear you come up the stairs, you’re so quiet.”

“Your mom is asleep,” I whispered, twisting my fingers, stepping around him hurriedly, my heart galloping. “We shouldn’t wake her up.”

I marched into his room, my stomach a bundle of nerves made worse by the hallway collision. Straining my ears for sounds of him following, I turned. To my relief, he’d followed, but he hovered outside the door, his hands in his pockets.

Dan watched me with a wary expression. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Sorry. I’m fine. How are you?”

He looked at me like the question confused him. “Fine.”

“Sorry,” I repeated, then clamped my mouth shut. There was no need for me to apologize.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll give you some time to get settled.” He took a step back.

“No. Don’t leave.” Unthinkingly, I rushed forward and caught him by the hands, pulling him forward into the room, releasing him, and shutting the door. I placed myself between him and the exit.

He stared at me, the confusion plaguing his features intensifying.

I stared back at him, nervous. But also determined.

“Are you tired?” I asked, advancing on him.

“Not really.” He didn’t move, just let me come, invade his space, his eyes watchful.

I didn’t touch him, and I realized—abruptly frustrated—I didn’t know how to initiate what I wanted. All that time, standing downstairs like a weirdo, staring at the sliver of light from the study, and my plan hadn’t extended beyond being both awake and alone with him.