Like Gravity(54)

Full-blown chuckles were now escaping from him.

The bastard was laughing!

I propped myself up on an elbow and glared down into his face.

“You’re amused by this?” I accused scathingly. No guy had ever laughed after having sex with me. Left pathetic voicemails and staged ‘accidental’ run-ins at places he’d known I would be? Yes. Laughed at me? No. I was good in bed – this was unheard of.

His laughter abated somewhat, and he managed to gasp out, “Yes, the amount of overanalyzing that’s going on in that mind of yours right now is highly amusing. If your brain is about to implode or something, a warning would be nice.”

“Excuse me?” I glared at him some more. He stopped laughing and brought one hand up to graze my temple, his blue eyes tender as they met mine.

“I can literally feel you freaking out and getting ready to make a run for it,” he said, rolling over onto his side so we were lying face to face.

“How?” I didn’t like the fact that he could read me so well.

“Because every muscle in your body is tensed and your face looks exactly like mine does after I sleep with a girl and am trying to think of the most-effective, least-dramatic way to extract myself from her bed.”

I smacked him on his arm and jerked my head out of his grasp, refusing to meet his eyes after that comment. Was that really what my face looked like? Worse, was that the look on his face right now? I couldn’t look at him – I’d happily live in the dark, never knowing the answer to that question so long as it meant that particular insecurity wasn’t confirmed.

“Brooklyn,” he said, turning my reluctant face back to look at him. I tried to fight his grasp, but denying him anything was nearly impossible when those cobalt eyes were locked on you. “You wouldn’t make it two feet before I hauled you back in here with me.”

“This is ridiculous! It’s my room!” I huffed. “If anyone is leaving, it’s you.”

“Bee, do me a favor?” Finn asked, ignoring my complaints. “Stop thinking.”

I opened my mouth and prepared to ream him out. The cocky * had not only brought up all the other girls he’d nailed in the past when we’d just had sex – which violated just about every girl rule on the planet – but also was spot-freaking-on about my impending freak out – which violated just about every Brooklyn rule on the planet. I hated that he was right.

Before I could get out even a single word, however, he leaned in and kissed me firmly – a no-nonsense, deliberate kind of kiss that told me he knew everything that was going on in my mind and didn’t give a shit about any of it. The kiss was shorter than I’d have liked; just as I was beginning to kiss him back, he broke away and pressed a quick peck to my forehead.

“Look at us,” he murmured, eyes full of mirth as he slowly examined our paint-covered bodies. I glanced down at the smears of paint that coated our limbs and couldn’t help but laugh. Small round blue fingerprints spackled his forearms, marking the places I’d gripped; there were smudged handprints around my hips and thighs where he’d held my body against his.

“A work of art,” he whispered, tracing one blue fingertip along the curve of my breast.

My eyes met his and I suddenly couldn’t breathe, seeing the emotions his held locked away in their depths. It was remarkable how expressive they were, how rapidly they could fluctuate from playful to sensual to tender, and right now, they were full of a look so soft, so loving, I nearly had a panic attack at the sight of them.

It wasn’t a look you gave a one-night stand. It wasn’t a ‘just sex’ look. It was a ‘forever’ kind of look. Desperate to return to safer waters, I slid off his chest and began to stand up.

“Come on,” I said, grabbing his hand and trying to pull him up with me. With a sharp tug, he pulled me back down and I sprawled across his chest with a squeak of protest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“Well, jeeze, caveman – I was going to suggest we take a shower and clean each other up…” I drifted off. “But if you’d rather stay here alone, that’s fine with me, I guess.” I grinned mischievously at him, our faces only inches apart.

He sat up faster than I would’ve thought possible and abruptly scooped me into his arms, stalking toward my bathroom door. I laughed at his impatience as he roughly yanked open my shower curtain and stepped into the tub. Within seconds the water was pouring down on us, and I gasped at both the frigid temperature and the torrents of blue paint that were pouring off our skin and swirling down the shower drain.

“Finn! Turn the lever! It’s freezing!” I ordered, shivering as the arctic water fell on us. “No turn it to the left! Jesus!”

He was laughing, cradling me to his chest with one arm and fiddling with the shower controls with the other.

“This is supposed to be sexy,” I grumbled, giggling at the ridiculous situation. “In the movies, the water is never too cold, the shower is always big enough for two, and they’re never covered in so much paint that the bathtub will have a slight blue sheen for eternity.”

Finn finally found the right lever and the water began to warm up. His other arm returned to hold me against him, and his lips grazed mine. I could feel every contour of his hard body pressed against me, and suddenly realized that we were, in fact, very naked. I stopped talking as his lips captured my mouth, and after a few tantalizing moments he pulled away to stare down at my dazed expression.