Page 47 of A Crazy Kind of Love
He smiled the big smile, the one that brought out the dimple in his cheek. He ran a finger across my forehead to move loose strands out of my face. Then he kissed me. The first kiss was sweet. Our lips tested each other, tasted each other. Then he put his hands around the back of my neck. I pulled away and listened for the dangerous sounds of my heart pounding in my ears. He opened his eyes. “Everything okay?”
I reached for him and wove my fingers in his hair. I pressed my lips on his. The second kiss felt like an invitation to open myself up to him. When his tongue brushed against mine, a delicious queasiness spread through my belly.
“Can you come back to my place?” he asked.
The clock on the dash showed two a.m. My quick math told me that I’d be up all night if I went home with him. As it was, I’d be lucky to be up by eight. “I have to be at work by nine tomorrow. I should be going to bed.”
“Okay.” He pulled me in for a tight hug. “I’m sorry again.” He shook his head and leaned back. “You must think I’m a jerk.”
My mind was racing.
Zion had brought his boyfriends home occasionally. Not often, but it wasn’t unprecedented....
Micah took my hand. “But thank you for coming out tonight.”
And I could be a little late in the morning if I made it up at the end of the day.
His thumb stroked mine. “When can I see you again?”
And that kiss. My legs were still shaking from that kiss. And . . . “Can you come up?”
He inhaled sharply. “Jo. You don’t have to.”
I laid my hand on his cheek. “Would you please come up?”
“Are you sure?”
In response, I pulled him in to me and kissed him until his lips parted, and his hands roamed into uncharted territory. I broke away. “Yes. I’m sure.”
Chapter 15
All the lights had been turned off except for the one in the range hood, and the apartment was dark and quiet. Zion had obviously gone to bed or had pretended to in the event I might bring Micah up. That was adorably sweet of him, but it left me awash in nerves. It left no doubt about why I’d brought Micah up.
To cover my awkwardness, I opened the fridge. “Do you want a drink?” I unscrewed the top of a bottle of water and drank half of it in one pull.
Then he was behind me, his hands on my shoulders, fingers running down my neck. A chill shot down my spine, and I set the bottle down and closed the door. He spun me toward him and pushed me against the fridge. He kissed me so deep, my legs almost gave out. I took his hand and led him to my bedroom.
He’d carried a kind of canvas messenger bag with him like an old army medical supply bag. I wondered if he kept a pair of spare clothes with him at all times. I wondered how many times he’d hooked up with a girl exactly like this after a show.
Had I been seduced?
If so, I was still under the spell, and I lured him with my own dark temptation toward my lair. I hadn’t been in New York long enough to have brought anyone into my bedroom. It seemed utterly preposterous that this guy I’d met on the street last week, whose pictures I’d seen in my own newspaper, was in my tiny bedroom, about to lay himself in my fortuitously large bed. About to lay me . . .
I sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. Without hesitating, he kissed me, pushed me over, and climbed in next to me.
And my brain caught up with my body, protesting with all the reasons I couldn’t go through with this. Maybe it was my Georgia upbringing, but the logical side of my brain threw up alarms that said, “You’ll never see him again if you let him sleep with you tonight.”
Another part of my brain countered that I’d be the worst kind of tease if I told him no now. He’d sent his driver away. I’d told him I was sure. I’d all but advertised my availability to him tonight.
But how many women had thought the same exact thing?
His thumb pressed against my cheek, and his hand slid around to the back of my head, and then down my neck and across my chest. He only lingered on my breasts for a moment before reaching for the hem of my shirt—the hem that hid my insulin pump attached to a white tube. I grabbed his hand before he could discover it. Even though he knew, mentally, that I was different, it was a whole other thing for him to see me. It wouldn’t be the first time someone turned away, repulsed by the “hospital patient.”
He stopped kissing me and looked down into my eyes. He drew his hands back. “It’s okay if you just want to go to sleep.”
“What?” Had I turned him off entirely already?
“Look. This is a really weird situation. I get that. And I really don’t want to screw it up with you. If you don’t want to do this, I’d be happy just to sleep next to you. I’m obviously attracted to you, but I’m not going to do anything that might make you doubt that I like you.” He traced my cheek. “You’re probably thinking that I picked you up like any one of the girls who show up looking for a night with a musician.”
