A Kiss Like This (Kiss and Make Up #3)(80)

“Abby? Is this making any sense or am I f*cking this up, too?”

Bravely, I raise my eyes and look into his face—his serious, broody, sweet face—peering up at me from his spot on the carpet, from under the brim of his ball cap. I take in his five o’clock shadow and the downturned curve of his full lips.

It’s just barely a pout.

I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything.

I show him.

Reaching forward, I remove his baseball hat and throw it into the dark pit of my bedroom. It lands with a soft thud on the carpet as I lift my arms and run all ten fingers through his thick, shaggy black hair.

He shutters, closing his chocolate-brown eyes and tilting his cheek toward my palm, nuzzling with an audible groan. “Abby, don’t be mad at me anymore,” he whispers again. “It was an accident.”

I know his intention isn’t to be funny, but a giggle escapes my lips as I finger the loose locks of his silky hair when he drops his head into my lap. “Oh, Caleb,” I whisper back. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

“Whatever you do, just don’t stop touching me,” he moans. “God, I missed you.”

I’d be lying if I said those four words weren’t the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me. Sad, but true. “But we’ve only known each other for… what. Three or four weeks?”

He stops caressing my legs and lifts his head, those dark eyes boring deep down into my soul. “Does a timeline really have anything to do with how you feel about me?”

“N-no,” I stutter, then take a steadying breath. “No. You’re right, of course it doesn’t. I don’t know why I even said that.”

His fingers trace circles on my thighs, and I fight back a shiver.

“Because you’re scared.”

“Yes.”

His mouth hitches at the corner and his hooded eyes sparkle. “Not as scared as I am.” He lowers his head and plants kisses on both my knees, one at a time. “I almost threw up in the bushes outside.”

“What!” I laugh quietly. “You did not.”

“I said almost. And yeah, I was so nervous I almost hurled my guts out.”

“Poor baby.” I take his head in my hands and pull him forward, between my parted legs, resting my lips on his forehead. His arms slide around my waist and his hands immediately begin stroking my back, painstakingly gentle.

“Abby?”

“Yes?”

“I have a confession to make: I accidentally climbed into Jenna’s room first.” His muffled laughter quivers against my chest, doing funny things to my girl parts.

I shove him away in shock. “What?” I practically shout. “Are you serious? How—what did she do?”

“Well,” he responds slowly, a huge grin spreading across his face. “You know how Jenna is. Of course she threated to shoot me. But that was before she knew it was me.”

“Oh my God, that girl is crazy! You could have been shot with an actual Taser gun!”

He makes a casual pfft sound, like getting shot with a stun gun is no big deal. “Yeah, but it would have totally been worth it.”

My hand flies to my chest, covering my heart as it flutters. “You would… you would get Tasered for me?” I take back what I said before. This is by far the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.

He shrugs. “Course I would.”

“Awww! Caleb, that is so… so awkwardly sweet.”

He shrugs again like it’s no big deal, like he contemplates a good Tasering on a daily basis and finds the process tediously boring.

God, he’s adorable.

I lovingly stroke the side of his face, and he leans in again, nuzzling the valley between my breasts with his nose.

“I noticed you’re wearing my shirt.” His muffled voice is barely audible, but I detect a pleased lilt to it.

I smile into his hair, against the top of his head. “It’s my shirt now, remember?”

He leans back on his taut haunches, calloused fingers stroking my shoulders, down my arms, fiddling with the hem of our shirt and watching my face the entire time. I lean back, bracing myself up with my arms, and look down as his big hands run slowly along the cotton trim then disappear underneath.

My breath hitches when those same hands linger over my belly button, drawing lazy loops around it. “I love your belly button,” he murmurs. “It’s so damn sexy.”

He leans in and licks it, his tongue trailing its way up my stomach. Deftly, my tee shirt gets pushed up, and Caleb is sliding his hands up my abs, over my breasts, and pulling the shirt off in one swift motion.

“Caleb.”

“Mmmm?”

“I just wanted to say that… oh, that feels good… I just wanted to say that… mnnnuuh… c-climbing… uhh… maybe you should s-stop doing that so I can s-say what I need to say.” I get the words out as he’s yanking his own shirt over his head, and my hands snake up his bare chest.

What was it I wanted to say?

“What did you want to say, baby? I’m listening.”

Oh, Jesus. Who can think straight with these capable fingers stroking so perilously close to a person’s, um, lace-covered crotch.

I struggle to string my sentence together.