My Fair Billionaire(31)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

The more his scrutiny intensified, the more awkward Ava felt, slowing her progress even more. At this rate, he and Francesca would be sending their firstborn off to college before she finished with her first glove. Finally, she surrendered, dropping her right hand to her side and extending the left toward him.

“Could you help me out?” she asked, the question coming out softly and uncertainly.

It seemed to take a moment for her question to sink in, as Peyton was still fixed so intently on her gloved hand. Even when he moved his gaze from her hand to her face, he still looked acutely distracted.

“What?” he asked, sounding distracted, too.

“My glove,” she said. “The buttons. I’m having trouble getting them undone. Do you mind?”

Color seeped into his cheeks again. “Uh, no. No, of course I don’t mind. I’ll be glad to do…ah, undo…you…I mean them. Help you. Undo them. Of course. No problem.”

He moved both of his hands to her left one, but he hesitated before making contact. Instinctively, Ava took a step forward, as if doing so would help him close the hairbreadth of space that hovered between their hands. But all that did was diminish to a hairbreadth the space between their bodies, bringing them close enough that she more keenly felt his heat and more fully enjoyed his scent.

Close enough that, this time, Peyton did move closer, completely erasing any space left between them.

As his torso bumped hers, something at Ava’s core caught fire. When he closed his hands over her glove, capturing the fourth button between his thumb and forefinger, that fire exploded, sending rockets of heat through her entire body. It was such an exquisitely tender touch, coming so unexpectedly from a man like him, so unlike anything she’d felt before.

Then she remembered that that wasn’t true. Years ago, surrounded by girlish accoutrements in the bedroom of a Gold Coast mansion, she’d felt a touch that was just as tender, just as exquisite. That night, when Peyton had curled the fingers of one hand gingerly over her shoulder and skimmed the others along her nape, the gesture had been so tentative, so gentle, it was as if he were touching a girl for the first time. Which was ridiculous, because everyone at Emerson knew he was already hugely experienced, even at seventeen. With a carefulness no teenage boy should have been able to manage, he had begun to soothe her tense muscles.

The soothing, however, had quickly escalated. His touch did more to agitate than to placate, stirring feelings in Ava she’d spent months—years, even—trying to deny. Each stroke of his fingers over her flesh had made her crave more, until her thoughts became a jumble of desire and want and need. Peyton had been no more immune to the touching than she had. Within moments, what had started as an effort to calm erupted into a demand to incite. They’d been on each other like animals, scarcely breaking apart long enough to breathe.

But they’d been kids, she reminded herself, trying to ignore the heat building in her belly—and elsewhere. They’d been at the mercy of uncontrollable adolescent hormones. They were adults now, and could contain themselves. Yes, she was still physically attracted to Peyton. She suspected he was still physically attracted to her. But they were mature enough and experienced enough to recognize the pointlessness of such an attraction when there was nothing else between them to make it last. Sex was only sex without emotion to enrich it. And she was beyond wanting to have sex with someone when there was no future in it for either of them.

Now the caress of his fingers on her hand began to sway her thinking in that regard. Maybe, just this once, sex without a future wouldn’t be such a bad thing…

Then Ava realized Peyton wasn’t unbuttoning her glove. He was, in fact, rebuttoning it.

“Peyton, what are you doing?” she asked, surprised by how breathless she sounded. Surprised by how breathless she was. “I need you to help me get my gloves off.”

He sounded a little breathless himself when he replied, “Oh, I think I like them better on.”

“But—”

She wasn’t able to complete her objection—she wasn’t even able to complete a thought—because he dipped his head to press his mouth against hers. A little gasp of surprise escaped her, and he took advantage of her open mouth to taste her more deeply. With one hand still tangled in her gloved fingers, he pulled her close with the other, opening his hand at the small of her back to hold her in place. Not that Ava necessarily wanted to go anywhere. Not just yet. This was starting to get interesting…

Instinctively, she kissed him back, curving her free hand over his shoulder, tilting her head to facilitate the embrace. When she did, her hat bumped his forehead and tipped to one side. She released his shoulder to pull out the trio of hairpins keeping it in place, but Peyton captured that hand, too, pulling both away from her body.

“Don’t,” he said softly.

“But it’s in the way.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s perfect where it is.”

They were both breathing hard, their gazes locked, neither seeming to know what to do. The whole thing made no sense. Moments ago, they were arguing, and she was telling him to leave her alone. Yes, they’d ultimately arrived at an uneasy truce, but this went beyond every treaty they’d ever studied in World Civ.

Finally, she asked, “Peyton, what are we doing?”

He said nothing for a moment, only continued to hold her hands at her sides and study her face. Then he said, “Something that’s been coming for a long time, I think.”

“It can’t have been that long. You’ve only been back in Chicago for two weeks.”

“Oh, this started long before I came back to Chicago.”

That was true. It had probably started her freshman year at Emerson, the first time she’d laid eyes on the bad boy of the sophomore class. The bad boy of every class. Even before she knew what it was to want someone, she’d wanted Peyton. She just hadn’t understood how deeply that kind of wanting could run. Now—

Now she understood all too well. And now she wanted it—wanted him—even more.

Nevertheless, she resisted. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s no point in it.”

“There was no point in it sixteen years ago, either, but that didn’t stop us then.”

“That’s exactly my point.”

He smiled at that. “But we were so good together, Ava.”

“That one night we were.”

He lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Most people don’t get one night like that their entire lives.”