CHAPTER 12
Kyle
I don’t want it to be, but this is definitely a date.
I came to this brutal realization about ten minutes after we finished our lobsters. Somehow, while I was busy cracking the shiny red shell of a huge claw, it hit me that Jane had managed to completely captivate me with some good fucking conversation.
Despite my best efforts to keep us talking about impersonal shit, Jane managed to make me more and more curious about her. Learning her favorite movie led into a conversation about the fact that there wasn’t a decent movie theater in this area. Like a dumbass, rather than ask about where she would go to see her movies and keep the conversation impersonal, I made the mistake about asking what she liked to do in her free time. That started an avalanche of information flowing toward me at a breakneck speed.
And I was fucking hooked.
I already knew that Jane was quirky, funny, and I’ll even admit, practically irresistible. It goes without saying that she’s gorgeous and sexy. But I also found out, through stories she told me about her life, that she has an amazing sense of self. If you don’t look too deep, it would be easy to believe that Jane is merely comfortable in her quiet life here in Misty Harbor. There would be many people who would look at a young woman with all of her natural beauty and clear gifts and wonder why she would be content to live in a very small town with no real possibilities to be anything other than a favorite daughter, a wonderful best friend and a well-loved art teacher.
But by the time we had finished dessert—which was cheesecake for Jane and another beer for me—I knew without a doubt that Jane was more than just content in her life here in Misty Harbor. Rather, she adored everything about it and it made her insanely happy. I learned she’s incredibly close to her parents, has a completely fulfilling relationship with Miranda that resembles more of a sibling nature than just best friends, and she has a career that brings her such joy, she would never think to do anything else with her life.
Some would call her simpleminded and lacking goals, but I see someone who is incredibly centered and has achieved everything she could ever want in life.
This fascinates me.
This more than fascinates me, because despite the fact that I almost single-handedly brought down a major criminal organization, which is an accomplishment most people could never even hope to imagine, I’m sitting here in Misty Harbor wondering how I’ve wasted so much of my life. I’m in a town, hiding out, and removed from everything important in my life. As I reflect back on the last five years I gave up so I could bring a pack of criminals to justice, I feel strangely unaccomplished.
I look at Jane Cresson and realize I’ve been missing out on the reality of life. I’ve been completely without those little things that make life worth living. Good friends and family, a sense of belonging, and a joy-filled life. My life so far has been nothing but subsistence, and not a very fulfilling one at that.
While I admit this is a date, I still don’t have a fucking clue what I’m going to do with this revelation. If I was a kind and gentle man, I’d drop Jane off at her house with a handshake and wish her well in life. I’d then barricade myself in my cottage and make sure I never crossed paths with her again.
But I’m not kind or gentle. More often than not, I’ve been called a supreme asshole by many people, and they wouldn’t be wrong in their beliefs about me. It would be completely repugnant to encourage Jane. It would be almost morally deviant of me to do anything other than chase her off.
And yet, I’m debating right this very minute as I walk her back home whether I’m going to kiss her or try to fuck her when we get to her house, because at my core, I’m a selfish bastard. I’ve got so many years of living life as amorally and sinfully as possible, I almost believe it’s within my right to dirty Jane up. It’s certainly all I really know anymore.
“So, what did you think of your first experience with lobster?” Jane asks as she nudges her shoulder into my arm playfully. The push doesn’t move me off course, and I keep my hands firmly tucked in my pockets as we walk along the same path back to her house. Up ahead in the distance, I see her parents’ house, the porch light glowing but the rocking chairs thankfully empty. I breathe a little easier not having to face her mom and dad again, or, God forbid, receiving an invitation to come in for coffee or something. While I’ve conceded this is a date, I am not going to be meeting her parents.
Ever.
“It was fantastic,” I admit about the lobster. “Outside of being a pain in the ass to eat.”
“You can order them to be cracked and the meat pulled out for you,” Jane tells me. “But you’d look like a total pansy ass at that point, and I don’t think that would be a good look on you.”
My lips twitch as she’d be totally right about that, but I don’t respond. Despite Jane’s knack for keeping conversation flowing, I also find that moments of silence with her are just as comfortable.
So comfortable, in fact, I almost trip over my own feet when she startles me with her next crazy proclamation. “I think this was a nice date, and I’m wondering if you’re going to kiss me when we get to my house.”
“It’s not a date,” I say automatically and way too vehemently, and Jane just snickers at me.
“Of course it’s a date,” she says. “You picked me up, took me to a nice restaurant, we had amazing conversation, lingered long over dessert, and we’re taking a totally romantic walk back to my house.”
“It was a thank you for helping me paint,” I state firmly.
“That would have been beer and a pizza, not a romantic restaurant,” she counters.
“You picked the restaurant,” I remind her.
She ignores that very pointed reminder. “So are you going to kiss me?”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, completely wanting to tell her, No, I’m not going to kiss you. Not now. Not ever. But nothing else comes out.
She snickers again. “You totally want to kiss me.”
“Wring your neck more like it,” I growl at her.
She laughs at me again, and my lips twitch… again.
“Seriously though,” she says solemnly as she stops mid-stride and curls her hand around my forearm, which causes me to stop and turn to her. Her gaze is troubled, all traces of amusement gone. “I’m giving you a hard time. You don’t have to kiss me.”
I stare at her a thoughtful moment, my eyes moving over her beautifully innocent face. Her head tilts to the side, almost as if she’s trying to figure out what’s lurking inside my head.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally tell her. “And let you know when we get to your house.”
She beams a smile up at me. It causes my stomach to tighten and my skin to tingle, in a not wholly unpleasant way. So I’m guessing I already have my answer.
Jane moves her hand down my forearm, past my wrist, and slides her palm against mine. Her fingers curl around my own as she says, “The suspense is killing me. I hope it lasts. Willy Wonka, 1971.”
Smiling internally but never showing her that she amuses me, I don’t bother pulling my hand away from hers because it feels too damn nice. It’s soft and warm and secure against mine, unlike anything I’ve felt in my grasp before.
Instead, I just start walking, this time a bit quicker and with our hands firmly clasped together.
We walk past her parents’ house in silence, and the yappy dog the next house down is thankfully inside. Otherwise, Jane might be tempted to pull away from me to pet that ridiculously loud thing.
When we reach Jane’s house, she lets go of my hand and reaches into her purse to pull out a set of keys. Rather than unlock her door, she turns to me with her chin lifted in challenge. “Do you want to come in for a drink?”
“Not really,” I tell her truthfully, because, in my mind, if I step through that door, it’s going to be more than just a kiss. I’m not a gentleman, and I’m used to taking what I want. Jane will be in very real danger if I take her up on her offer.
She cocks an eyebrow at me skeptically. “I know no man who won’t accept an invitation in for a drink.”
“Is that really what you’re offering me?” I counter in a low voice.
She blinks at me in surprise. “Well, of course that’s what I’m offering. Is that wrong?”
“I thought you wanted a kiss,” I remind her.
“I do,” she says with her chin tilting higher. “But I figured we could have a drink… talk some more.”
God, she can’t be that fucking naïve. And if she really is, I need to educate her a bit on the dangers of assuming nice things about me.
I step toward Jane, crowding her space and forcing her to step backward until her back flattens against the door. I take another half a step until our bodies are separated by just a few inches of air and vibrating tension. As I peer down at her, I take in the fact her breathing has gotten faster and her eyelids have dropped slightly. Her gaze lowers slowly until she focuses on my mouth, and fuck it all to hell… she licks her lips.
It takes a massive amount of sheer willpower not to touch her.
Grab her.
Fuck… maul her.
I want to fucking maul her like a damn savage, but that’s not me anymore.
I swear it’s not me.
Taking in a slow breath through my nose, I let it out quietly through my mouth before I tell her, “Jane… in my world, you invite a man inside your house, and he expects you to spread your legs for him.”
I hope to shock her and piss her off, so she’ll do what I can’t do in this moment, and that’s to realize this has disaster written all over it. I want to offend her notions of romance and sensibility, and send her scurrying away from me.
Instead, she raises her gaze to meet mine and whispers, “That wasn’t what I was offering, Kyle. Maybe later… after I get to know you a bit more, but for now… I really only want a kiss.”
Goddamn it.
I fucking want it too. And I’ll be more than happy with just a touch of her mouth on mine with the promise of nothing else in return. I can be satisfied with that.
I think.
I’m overwhelmed with a burst of anger toward her for her tenacity and ignorance of the ways of bad men, and I’m turned on beyond measure that, despite my scary attempts, she still wants something from me.
I bring a hand up and touch my fingers to her cheek in a move so gentle I don’t recognize myself. She lets out a small gust of air that sounds appreciative and accepting, but it turns into a tiny gasp when my hand slides back into her hair and I grip it in my fist. It’s not enough to hurt her, but it holds her tightly in place as I lower my face toward hers.
“I’m not a nice guy, Jane,” I warn her.
“You seem nice enough,” she says in a low murmur, but there’s enough sass there I have to suppress an involuntary smile.
“I’ll hurt you,” I say ominously.
“Right this very moment?” she inquires sweetly.
“Eventually,” I mutter.
“I’ll take my chances, Kyle,” she whispers. Those five words seal her fate.
“So be it,” I say on a regretful sigh, and then I give her what she wants.