Breathe (Colorado Mountain #4)(65)

Okay, maybe I wasn’t ready for that kind of real. I knew this because I felt my cheeks warm.

Still, I mumbled, “Oh. Okay.”

Chace chuckled so I knew he didn’t miss my blush. He bent and brushed his mouth against mine before he lifted away again and whispered, “We’ll work up to straight talk about sex.”

This seemed like a good idea.

“I’d appreciate that,” I whispered back.

Chace’s body shook a little with his amusement. I didn’t have the chance to feel much of it because he rolled over me then pulled me out of bed and onto my feet.

It was at this point I realized my jeans were undone and I was wearing nothing up top but my emerald green, satin, demi-cup bra with the little, tight diagonal pleats across the cups and tiny edge of dove gray lace.

Chace was bent to tag my shirt off the floor and my hands quickly went to my jeans.

He straightened, his eyes dropped to my torso and stayed there as his hand came out to offer me my shirt and I got the zip up.

“Take that, I’ll do this,” he ordered, his hand not holding my shirt coming out to curl into my waistband and he tugged me to him.

I bit my lip, took the shirt and started to pull it on.

It was over my head and Chace’s fingers had done up my button and were working my belt when he muttered, “When we work up to straight talk, I’ll tell you exactly how I feel about your bra.”

Oh my fraking Lord.

Well, one thing about that, it was good to know the bra was a worthwhile purchase.

I yanked my shirt down and avoided Chace’s eyes.

He finished with my belt but used a finger hooked in the buckle to tug me even closer and the intimacy of this sent my eyes skidding to him.

“I’ll amend my statement in a way since you’re safe with me anywhere but especially in my bed and also especially in this room,” he told me the instant he got my eyes.

“Uh… okay,” I whispered, happy to hear it, even if it was mostly a repeated statement though not getting why he said it.

Chace, who had demonstrated often he could read me, read me. I knew this when he kept talking.

“What I’m sayin’, Faye, is, you’re avoiding my eyes because maybe you’re embarrassed or feelin’ shy and uncertain about what to do next.”

His hand came up, shifted my hair off my shoulder then curled around the side of my neck. But his eyes never left mine throughout this or when he used his finger hooked into my belt buckle to pull me even closer and his face dipped to mine.

“I like you,” he whispered. “I hope you’re gettin’ that. I like all I know about you even what I already knew that you were gonna tell me earlier. That bein’ that no one’s been in there. That is, no one now but me. And last, I like knowin’ the town’s cute, sweet, pretty, shy librarian who I’m datin’ wears sexy underwear.” His smile hit his eyes which were all I could see and he went on, “I like it a lot, baby. A f**kuva lot. So you got not one thing to be embarrassed, shy or uncertain about. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, giving him a small, relieved smile because I was relieved and not in a small way.

“Good,” he whispered back, lifted his chin, kissed my nose then let go of me in the two places he had hold of me but grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the room.

Seeing as my eyes were closed since he was kissing me and carrying me on the way to his room, on the way out of it, I could finally take in his house.

Which, as he moved me through it, was really nice. It was an extension of him. Masculine (very), good taste and western.

It was also massive. We kept going (and going and going!) and then finally hit an enormous room that was both family room and kitchen. They were enormous in their own right but put together they were massive. Not to mention his sectional which was the like I’d never seen before. It was, essentially, three full couches. Three.

I figured Misty lived here with him but I didn’t figure he lounged on his couch with her watching TV, mostly because he told me he spent zero time with her if he could help it. This meant that couch had been a couch for one. Which was crazy.

“Uh… you have a lot of room,” I noted as he led me to the kitchen.

“Yep,” he agreed.

“This is a lot of room for just one person,” I remarked as he stopped me by an island that could act as a guest bed for three adolescent children. Just pump up an air mattress, toss it on top and hope they didn’t roll off.

He didn’t reply to my remark.

Instead, he asked, “You drink red or white wine with tacos?”

I looked to him to see he was standing at his fridge. “Tacos?”

“Ground beef, packet seasoning, store bought shit to put on top. I’m not a cook. Don’t like doin’ it. But gotta eat and when I eat, I like to eat shit I like. If it comes out of a packet, so be it. They might not be Rosalinda’s or even close. But they don’t suck. So, we’re havin’ tacos.”

“I like tacos,” I informed him though I liked Rosalinda’s Mexican food better. You had to drive to Chantelle to get it, but Chantelle wasn’t very far and Rosalinda’s was so good, it was worth the trip. When I didn’t drive to Chantelle but I had a taste for tacos, I used the packet stuff too. So I decided to inform Chace of this fact. “I also make packet tacos, FYI.”