Cast in shadows, his dark silhouette swings off the bike and approaches in long, unhurried strides. I step back, making room as he enters.
“You just get home?” Glancing at my coat and gloves, he sets his helmet on the chair by the door.
“A few minutes ago.” I lock up and pull off my outerwear. “Thank you for fixing the mirror.”
“You’re welcome.” He shrugs out of his leather jacket, takes my coat, and hangs everything on the hooks behind the door. “How did the glass break?”
“It got in a fight with a bottle of whiskey.”
His bog-brown eyes scan my face. Not prying. Just looking. Taking in my features like the first day we met.
It’s always the visual connection that sparks first between us. The silent greeting of eye contact. The instant physical attraction. It creates a crackling glow that wraps around us until the rest of the world fades into the void it was without him. We float in a luminous bubble, staring and gravitating closer together and smiling foolishly.
The helmet left his brown hair in spikes of sexy defiance. Dimples dent his cheeks, and a black t-shirt stretches across his wide shoulders. Black slacks and a gun holster on his hip complete the security uniform. It’s uninspiring as far as uniforms go, but my God, he knows how to work it. I bet he turned every female head in the stadium tonight.
“Do you know how to use that?” I point at the gun on his hip, assuming his prior job required expertise in all manner of firearms.
He arches a brow and huffs. “We’ll go to the shooting range, and I’ll show you how to use it.”
“Sure.” I shrug. My interest is solely in watching him handle a gun. “How do you like the new job?”
“It’s just a job.”
I circle his wide stance, taking in the delicious fit of his clothes. Sitting low on his trim waist, the cargo pants highlight the powerful muscles in his legs and the firm shape of his ass. He’s covered head-to-toe in black, like a formidable shadow, except for the white lettering on his back that reads Security.
He went from a high-speed operative with a top-secret clearance to the sheriff of Nothingham with an iron-on decal on his back.
“You hate it, don’t you?” I return to his front and study his dark gaze.
“I hate being in this house without you here.”
My shoulders slump. “I know this is hard—”
“Hey.” He lifts my chin with a knuckle and glides his hand beneath my hair to hold the back of my neck. “I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. The job gives me something to do while you’re working. That’s all it is to me.”
“And a paycheck.”
“I don’t need much beyond what’s standing right here.” He folds his arms around me and holds me tight to his chest. “This… This is everything to me.”
I clutch his waist, balling his shirt in my hands and sinking into his molten eyes. His beautiful lips are right there, a breath away. The need to kiss him is so deep-rooted and intrinsic I’ve never had to think about it before.
But I don’t want to turn this into a passionate make-out session that ends in frustration. And it will, because we never go halfway on anything. When we met, we fell instantly. When we kiss, we go wild. A feral, uncontrollable kind of wild that always leads to sex.
I shift back, putting a sliver of space between us. “Are you tired?”
He shakes his head, eyes warm and hooded.
“Want to have a picnic on your futon and watch movies?” I ask.
“You mean, watch one movie? The only movie?”
“You remember.” I grin.
“Are you kidding? I watched Dirty Dancing countless times over the past four years, just so I could come home and recite it with you.”
“You know the words?”
“All of them.”
I bounce on my toes, unable to contain my excitement. “I’ll get the snacks.”
“I’ll take a quick shower and meet you downstairs.”
Later, with my belly stuffed with cheese, crackers, and beer, I lie face-down on the futon, with his pillow scrunched beneath my chin. He mirrors my position beside me, wearing lounge pants and a white t-shirt. With our legs angled toward the top of the bed and our heads at the foot, we’re glued to the TV on the wall a few feet away.
There’s only a couple scenes left in the movie, and he’s proven that he does, in fact, know all the words. Midway through, we fell into our own speaking parts, with him reciting Johnny Castle’s lines while I perform Baby’s. It’s turned Dirty Dancing into a whole new viewing experience, and I can’t stop laughing.
He shifts to his side, facing me, as he reels off his next line. His eyes glitter, and his mouth sensually forms each word, delivering the dialog with passion and drama.