Dear Aaron(125)

But it was Aaron who opened his mouth and brushed the tip of his tongue against mine.

I hadn’t kissed a whole bunch of men, but I’d kissed enough, especially over the last few months. And even though I’d enjoyed most of those kisses, it was nothing compared to this one. No one had made the hairs on my arms stand up. No one had stolen the breath from my lungs or made me squirm closer for more. No one else had made me feel like this was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Aaron kissed me and kissed me and kissed me with his hand around my hip, the tips of his fingers just under the hem of where my shirt had ridden up. He held me to him, and I’d swear I could feel something hard and thick right along my hip. And we kept on kissing. My face tilted one way, his tilted the other as his tongue stroked mine slowly and tenderly. I’d suck one of his lips between mine gently and he’d do the same to me. Our breathing grew harder. My hands moved deeper into his hair. My nipples went hard, and I wasn’t sure if I shivered because of the breeze or because of Aaron.

What I did know was that it was him who pulled away, his nose touching mine as he let out a ragged breath against my cheek with a dry laugh that didn’t sound all that entertained. “Jesus, Ruby.”

I couldn’t help but smile, feeling pretty damn pleased with myself. “Is that a flashlight in your pocket or did you think that kiss was as good as I did?”

He laughed straight out, his chest bubbling. “Pretty sure we’re on the same page about that kiss,” he muttered, sounding slightly out of breath.

It was my turn to laugh. “Can we do it again?”





Chapter 23





I woke up with a stomachache the next morning.

It was our last full day in San Blas and… the idea of it sucked. It really did. I’d always been relieved to go back home after a vacation, missing my bed, missing my stuff, missing my life, but while I missed some parts of it, I didn’t exactly miss the rest of it. Not really. Not enough to calm the ache of knowing this was my last day with Aaron.

I’d turned into one of those girls apparently.

And honestly, I didn’t care. Not even a little bit.

I didn’t need to look at the clock on my phone to know it was right around six in the morning based on the shade of purple coming through my curtain. Aaron and I had stayed up until almost two, going back into the house to watch a movie when people started shooting fireworks off on the beach. Aaron had tensed every time the pew, pew sound from outside became particularly loud, but I didn’t make it known that I noticed. I wasn’t even sure he did, like it was more instinctual than anything. The rest of the group had shown up only about an hour into the movie after watching the fireworks, crashing on the couch to watch Stargate.

When we’d finally gone down the stairs and headed toward our bedrooms, I’d thought about asking Aaron if he wanted to sleep in the room with me, but I’d chickened out and just kissed that mouth like it was the greatest chore I would gladly do every morning for the rest of my life and the next if anyone gave me the choice.

But it was the hand of his that cupped the back of my head as he tipped his mouth deeper into mine that had got me going to my tiptoes. Just as quickly as he’d leaned in, he pulled back, kissing one of my cheeks quickly.

I was a sucker. A real, real sucker.

With my head full of crap, I did my usual shower and shaving and headed upstairs, knowing that was about as far as my morning routine would go. Instead of going out on the deck like I had almost every other morning, I opened the fridge and started pulling out ingredients. I’d just finished sliding the first omelet onto a plate when the stairs squeaked with weight. Sure enough, it was Aaron, freshly showered and looking not as tired as he usually did.

But there was something there in his eyes I hadn’t seen before.

“Morning.”

“Morning, RC,” he replied in that quiet, rough voice, slowly walking toward me. “What are you making?”

“Omelets,” I said. “I already made you one. I figured you’d want two at least, right?”

His gaze flicked to the pan I had in my hand before he nodded. “Need any help?”

“No.” I looked toward the stove again. “It’s my turn this morning.”

I wasn’t going to be sad. Today was going to be a good day. A great one. One that didn’t end with me blubbering into my pillow because tomorrow I’d be flying back home.

No. Today was going to be a good day if I had anything to say about it.

“You mad at the eggs or what?” came Aaron’s amused voice.

I stopped with the whisk in my hand and looked down at the overly whipped concoction in the bowl.

He must have already been standing right by me because his hip checked mine, almost scaring the crap out of me. “Scoot over. I’ll help so you can get done faster and you can sit with me.”

So I could sit with him.

Tears prickled in the backs of my eyes and I stopped freaking blinking so they wouldn’t get any ideas about what they were going to do next. The next few minutes went by quickly, but the most memorable thing about it was avidly avoiding Aaron’s eyes as we moved around each other, making two more omelets in half the time it had taken me to make the first one.

“Who taught you how to cook?” I pretty much croaked out, knowing full well he had to have heard the hitch in my voice.