The Redhead Revealed (Redhead #2)(45)
Author: Alice Clayton

When the door pinged open, I looked at him and was overcome by the warmth in his eyes. He smiled hesitantly at me, and I smiled back. I extended my hand once more to him and pulled him out into the hallway. We walked silently down the hall to my door, and when I pulled my keys out, he took them and opened the door for me. He nodded and let me walk in before him. As I passed him, I took another hit of wool and lemons, and my eyes crossed a little. It was intoxicating.

I took off my coat. He removed his. I asked him if he wanted anything to drink. He declined. I started to say something about the mess in my apartment. There was no mess.

And then he came to me, all comfort and safe haven, and opened his arms.

I fell into them, my face nuzzling against the soft fleece covering his chest. I could feel his breathing speed up as mine did, and I felt his arms around me, his face buried in my hair, his breath hot in my ear.

I was spun backward in time to a futon and a boy and a girl discovering each other. My hands clutched at his fleece as his hands dug into the small of my back.

“Grace,” I heard him say, and I shivered.

I pulled away to look up and was momentarily blinded by the feeling shining from his eyes. I smiled shyly at him, and he bent his head. He pressed his lips to mine as softly and shyly as my smile. My stomach tightened as I allowed myself to feel everything coursing through me at that moment.

His hands moved across my back, gently pressing me into his body. I deepened our kiss, tracing my tongue across his bottom lip and sucking it into my mouth. He sighed, his breath fanning across my face in a heavenly way.

He answered my kiss with a deeper one of his own, his hands now tangled in my hair. My hands slipped around to his back, sliding up under his pullover, touching his skin for the first time.

We pulled apart for one second, the space between us crackling. Our foreheads met.

His hands crawled restlessly from my hair to my back, continuing to press me further into him. I felt his excitement at our closeness. It was thrilling.

I trailed my nails down his back, and he groaned.

“Grace, you’re killing me.” He laughed, and I smiled in response.

“Let me,” I whispered.

His hands crept between us, and he slipped my shirt out of my pants. My skin was on fire as I felt his knuckles graze my tummy, and I inhaled quickly.

He stopped, bending his head to meet my eyes. “Is this okay?” he asked, concern flooding his face.

You sure about this?

Shhhh.

“It’s okay, Michael, really.” I brought my hands back around front and slipped them under his shirt.

He grinned, then closed his eyes at the sensation of my hands exploring his chest and abdomen. I pushed up his shirt and kissed his skin. His scent was stronger here, the heat concentrated. I kissed across his chest and felt his hands raise my shirt. He began to undress me. I let him.

We made our way to the bedroom, and as we walked, me backward and him forward, shirts were removed. We smiled and laughed a little, in the way that young kids do when they discover something new and exciting, but a little scary.

We paused at the edge of the bed, neither of us quite sure who would make the first move, who would move this act beyond simple exploration and into something much more serious. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and pushed him down onto the comforter. Quickly he rolled so that I was beneath him, and held my face in his hands as he gazed down at me.

“I’ve thought about having you this way again for so long, Grace,” he murmured, sweeping kisses across my forehead and down across my face.

He bent his head to me, his curly hair tickling as he made his way down my body, kisses becoming more and more urgent. It felt wonderful and surreal and warm and comforting and weird and strange and too much.

My brain and my heart began to fight, and my body waited to see who would win.

His mouth sought me, nuzzled at my breast, and his wonderfully kind hands reached my bra, beginning to touch the skin underneath. I closed my eyes and felt his warm tongue touch me. My body reacted, and I arched underneath him. I heard him groan, and felt his lips encircle my breast. I opened my eyes and looked down to see his looking up at me.

His eyes were warm.

My body was cold.

His rich, cozy scent of wool and lemons was now too thick, too much, too there.

Lemons. Lemons. My lemon trees. Home.

Home is where your heart is. Where is your heart, Grace?

This was wrong. Grace and Michael lived perpetually back in college, what might have been. As lovely as this idea was, it was now all wrong.

I felt my eyes burning. My heart had won. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and all I could see was my sweet Jack—the pain in his eyes when I closed my heart to him.

“Michael, please,” I begged.

“Grace, I know, I know,” he whispered, kissing me intimately.

“No, Michael, I can’t. I just can’t,” I said, pulling him back up my body.

“Gracie, what’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up and caressing my face.

You are not his Gracie.

“Please don’t call me that,” I said, tears running freely now.

Horrified, he sat back on the side of the bed. I sat up, pulling my shirt back in place to cover myself.

Tears ran down my face as I tried to explain to my dear, sweet friend why this couldn’t happen. “Michael, I’m so sorry, but I just can’t,” I said, brushing his hair back from his face. He’d slipped his shirt back on, and now sat with me, arm around my shoulders. I’d wrapped myself tightly in a blanket.

“I knew this was too soon,” he said. “I should never have come up here. This was too soon after, well…” He rocked me back and forth.

“I don’t want to hurt you. Oh, Michael, I just adore you,” I cried, throwing my arms around him again. I felt safe, now that I’d stopped what this was about to become. I still had alarm bells going off in my head, but they were starting to quiet down.

“We just need to slow down. I’m not going anywhere,” he replied.

I stopped short. I needed to be clear. I couldn’t leave him behind as another casualty.

“No, Michael, I can’t do this. Ever,” I started, as he stared at me, blinking. “You’re too good a friend to me, but I think…I think our time has passed. Don’t you feel it? Doesn’t this feel too much like we’re trying too hard?” I begged him with my eyes, wanting him to see it, feel it too.

“Aw, Grace. You’re too crazy for me. What the hell?” he slumped back on the bed, covering his face with his arm.