When in Rome(23)

“I’m fine.” I wipe my eyes with my forearm again, but it’s getting worse. Involuntary tears are starting to stream from my eyes. I’m not crying! Let the record show my eyes are doing this on their own!

I shove my soap-covered hands under the stream of water and frantically try to rinse them so I can wipe what I now think might be straight-up battery acid out of my eyes. Amelia tries to tug my shoulder again, but I don’t budge.

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” she says like she’s lived in this town for more than two days. She then slides herself up under my arm, right between me and the sink. My arms are wrapped around her now and our chests are touching. Hot electricity surges through my veins and I’m left stunned. It’s been too long since I’ve had a woman in my arms and that’s the only reason my body is reacting so intensely right now.

“Just let me get the bubbles out and then you can go back to ignoring me,” she says, lifting up on her tiptoes to push the dish towel into each of my eyes, wiping the suds out. It helps. Or maybe I just don’t feel the pain anymore because my brain is zeroing in on all the places our bodies are touching. It takes me all of two seconds to note that her eyes have flecks of green. That when her vanilla lotion mixes with her skin it smells like brown sugar. A light dusting of freckles sits on the bridge of her nose. Other than that subtle black line that extends over her lid and flicks out beside her thick eyelashes, I don’t think she wears much makeup. If I had to wager, I’d say those raspberry-pink lips are all natural.

I swallow when her hand lowers and my eyes are no longer burning. She doesn’t move. I don’t move. There’s this magnetic sort of pull between us that I’m not happy to realize exists. More than anything I’d love to be repulsed by her—but I’m not. And I sure as hell don’t hate staring at those full lips, wondering if they taste just as tart and sweet as they look.

I should step back. Drop my arms. Take a deep breath and cool off. But I can’t—my feet won’t move and my eyes won’t budge from her mouth.

And then, I don’t know who moves first, but our lips collide. My hand shoots up to cradle the back of her neck, and her arms wind around my waist, pulling my body flush with hers. Tender curves. Warm scent. Greedy hands. Her delicious mouth chases away my logical thoughts until all that’s left is desire. I step forward, pressing her back against the sink. We should stop. This goes against everything I’ve told her—but she makes a soft sound of encouragement that spikes a sharper need in me than I can contain.

Usually, I kiss like I have all day. A gentle build of sensuality that’s meant for savoring. Amelia unlocks something in me, though. Impatient. Needy. Her tongue glides over mine and she’s so damn sweet I feel like I’m burning alive.

I glide my hands to her waist and wrap my fingers around her hips, one second away from hoisting her up on the counter when the shop door chimes. The sound douses us in reality and all my rational thoughts return.

I drop my hands and step wayyy back, feeling strongly that whatever that was—it was a mistake. Amelia shuffles to the farthest corner of the counter. We’re not making eye contact anymore, and the atmosphere turns awkward.

“Amelia, I’m sorry. That was—”

“Not supposed to happen,” she finishes my statement in a rush. “I know. And I’m sorry, too. Let’s just move on and agree not to do it again.”

We’re prevented from talking anymore about this—which is probably for the best—when a familiar voice calls out to me from the front of the shop.

“Noah?”

Oh no. Not now. Not yet. I thought they’d get back in town tomorrow!

“He must be in the back.”

“Hiding probably.”

I look at Amelia and grimace. “I apologize in advance.”

Amelia only has a second to look confused before all three of my younger sisters barge through the kitchen door, eyes frantic and on the hunt.

“There you are!” says Emily, the oldest of my sisters, who I can best describe as a bottle of hot sauce. “You have so much explaining to do!” She just turned twenty-nine last year and has my mom’s green eyes. The same ones I have.

Next comes Madison, second to youngest, pushing through the swinging door and peering over Emily’s shoulder. “We just got back into town and had to hear from Harriet that you had a random woman stay over at your house last night!” Madison looks the most like my dad. She has dark hair and dark eyes. She pretends to be as assertive and unflappable as Emily, but she doesn’t fool me—she feels deeply.

And then next comes Annabell (aka Annie), the baby of the family at age twenty-six, the soft, quiet, wholesome one, and also the only one with naturally bright, nearly white, blond hair. We used to joke that she got it from the mailman since neither my mom or dad had blond hair. Even Emily and I have more of a golden, sandy color than true blond. “But then, we heard from Phil, who heard it from Gemma, who heard it from Mabel that it’s not a random woman but Rae Rose! As in the Rae Rose!”

Madison comes up and pokes me in the chest. “What were you thinking, keeping something like this from us? Do you not love us?”

I grin lightly. “How was the flower show?”

“Don’t try to distract us! Go ahead, Noah, tell us you hate us!” says Emily.

Annie puts her hands on her hips. “It’s the only reason we can imagine you wouldn’t call us immediately and tell us that pop royalty is staying in your house.” She pauses a moment and her face turns slightly abashed. “And the flower show was nice. Thank you for asking.”