Slow Burn(71)

    “We need milk and eggs,” he said as I drew close to him. He seemed cheery and loose. I hated that he was so good at that. I was a knot of tension.

    “Let’s just get this over with,” I said. “Buy whatever you want, but buy it fast. I want to go back to the house.”

    He kissed my temple. “Trust me, doll. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

* * *

    “Geez,” said Griffin, “you really did make too many French fries.”

    “I know,” I said, surveying the cookie sheet that sat on top of the stove, still piled with fries. We’d finished gorging ourselves with hamburgers and potatoes, but there were all these remaining. “I guess I thought it would be better to have too many than not enough.”

    “Should we put them in the refrigerator?”

    “I don’t think so. Have you ever had warmed-over fries? They really don’t reheat well. They’re all soggy and funny tasting.”

    “So I should toss them?” he said.

    “I think so.”

    He shook his head. “What a waste.”

    “I’m sorry.”

    “I’m teasing.” He took the cookie sheet to the trash can and dumped the contents inside. Then he handed it to me.

    I loaded it into the dishwasher. “I love having a dishwasher. If my apartment in Thomas had a dishwasher, it would have been perfect.”

    He smiled. “When were there dishes in Thomas? You cooked food that wasn’t in a prepackaged disposable container a whole two times while I was there.”

    “I cooked more than that.”

    “Nope. You didn’t. I noticed, because you happen to be a really good cook, and I was looking forward to more cooking.”

    I beamed. “You were?”

    “Absolutely.”

    I leaned in close and kissed him.

    He put his arms around me and trapped me against him, deepening the kiss.

    His mouth against mine awakened longing within me. I pressed myself against the length of his body, wanting to be as close as possible.

    He made a growling noise in the back of his throat, his fingers sliding under the hem of my shirt.

    I pulled back. “Let’s take this upstairs. I want to use that big bed for something other than crashing.” Last night, we’d been too exhausted to do anything more than put sheets on it. The minute we’d lain down, we’d been asleep.

    Griffin laughed, a deep rumble. Without warning, he picked me up.

    I shrieked. “You have to stop doing that.”

    “Really?” he said. “I could put you down.”

    On the other hand, it was nice to feel so small and safe. “Okay, I lied. Never stop doing that.”

    He carried me up to the bedroom and tossed me on the bed. I screamed with laughter as I bounced on the mattress.

    He crawled on after me.

    I raised myself on my knees and met him halfway. I kissed him and thrust my hands inside his shirt, over his smooth stomach.

    He made a strangled noise. He caught my hand. “Hold it.”

    I groaned, pulling my hand back. “Griffin, what’s going on with you?”

    He clenched his eyes shut. “It’s fine. You can do that. It’s fine.”

    “Really?” I said, smiling.

    He opened his eyes. “Yeah.”

    I put my hands back, exploring the planes and angles of his body. He was powerful and firm, but also silky under my touch. I ran my fingers over him, pulling off his shirt, pushing him back on the bed. I seized the front of his pants, undoing the button.

    And I was on my back suddenly, the wind knocked out of me.

    Griffin stood at the edge of the bed. He’d thrown me off him.

    I sat up.

    “This was a bad idea,” he said. He looked anguished.

    Guilt stabbed me. “I’m sorry. I pushed. I shouldn’t have tried to—”

    “You should be able to do that, though,” he said. “You should be with someone who will let you touch him.”

    I reached out and took his hand. “Come here.”