Chapter 7
The second I open the front door, Timmy disappears into his bedroom, leaving me alone with Chance. So much for having my son around to keep my thoughts pure. I look at him, and It hits me. Chance Carter is in my house. In my living room!
He seems to fill every ounce of empty space. I’m nervous and excited and completely unsure of myself. It’s like having a boy in my bedroom for the first time all over again. I don’t know what to do or how to act. Shit, I can’t think of Chance and bedroom in the same thought.
I don’t want him to think I’m interested, even though right now interested doesn’t even scratch the surface of what I am. After the stress of the accident and surprise of Chance showing up to help out, I’d love for him to pin me against a wall and fuck me senseless.
Of course that won’t happen. It can’t happen with Timmy in the next room. Which makes me want it even more. Chance is forbidden fruit on so many levels.
Embarrassed by my thoughts, I shake it off. Where are these longings and desires coming from? I’ve never been this type of girl. Never lusted after anyone. Never fantasized about having sex with anyone while I pleasured myself. At least not anyone that isn’t my husband.
Wasn’t my husband.
Guilt surrounds my heat like bumpers around a baby in a crib. How can I want, yearn for these things to happen here? In the house I shared with Mike?
Mike.
We’d sit and cuddle in here, in this very room, as a family while watching television. If Mike and I were lucky enough to find ourselves alone in it, we’d end up naked, with me bent over the arm of the couch. But being with Mike in that way isn’t an option anymore. It won’t be an option ever again.
I shouldn’t feel so conflicted about moving on. It’s what I’m supposed to do, isn’t it? That’s what everyone has been telling me for the last year. It’s time to get back on that horse. As if.
Maybe if Chance was just an average guy and not the hottest man in a fifty mile radius I’d feel better about the situation, and the sexual longings I have for him. I’d be confident. Secure.
But he’s not just an average guy. That’s part of the attraction. He’s young and hot. And insanely sexy. Sex drips off him, like water off your hair in a rain storm. His actions don’t help matters any. The smile he flashes at me, the one that invites me to explore his mouth. The way he rubs his thumb on his bottom lip when he’s thinking. The way his muscles ripple and tease through his clothes when he moves.
Standing here with him, I feel a tingling crawl up my legs and settle into my lower half. An awakening of sorts. I feel guilty for thinking of using this man to fulfill my sexual desires when he just did a kind deed for me. But I can’t help wanting him in that way.
I know I’m objectifying him like a construction worker judging a beauty pageant. But part of me really doesn’t care because after not having these thoughts and feelings for so long, it feels good, I feel alive and I want to keep having them. God, I’m pathetic. I’m worse than a horny old man.
Yikes. I am worse. I’m a horny old spinster!
I want to show him my appreciation for his kindness, do something nice just for him. I don’t think a lap dance would qualify. Besides, I’d probably bore him. No, it has to be something that says thank you, but isn’t too over the top. I’m not sure what though. Dinner? Bake him some cookies? Sure, just like a homely old woman.
My mind is buzzing and I can’t think straight. Maybe I could if these darn butterflies would go hibernate and stop fluttering like mad in my stomach. Although if they stop, the birds might fly south for the winter, and with anymore feeling down there I won’t be responsible for my actions.
“Thank you,” I say, breaking the silence between us. “For everything.”
“No worries. I’m glad I could help.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Something’s off and I’m not sure what it is or where it came from. It wasn’t here a few minutes earlier. This might be his way of keeping me at an arm’s length. At letting me know he isn’t interested in me in the lustful-I’m-barely-keeping-my-hands-off-you way I’m interested in him.
Oh, no! What if he can read my thoughts? What if he knows I’m thinking about him in that way? That since Timmy left us alone I can’t stop wondering how he looks with his clothes off. How his naked body feels pressed up against mine. Skin to skin. Rubbing. Touching. Caressing.
“You know, you don’t have to stay.” I give him an out. He’s already gone above and beyond what anyone else would’ve done for me. I don’t want him to feel obligated to babysit me, too.
His green eyes narrow and singe a hole in my heart. A tiny hole with his name written all over it. A whole a piece of him crawls in and fills.
“Trying to get rid of me?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not at all. I just—“
“Shh.” He holds his pointer finger up and steps forward. Close. Inches away. He’s so close, I feel his energy mesh with mine like entwined fingers. I expect him to touch my lips. I plan for it. Plan to take his finger in my mouth and give him a taste of what my lips and tongue can do.
I’m shaking. Trembling. My heart races. I feel Chance’s warmth and strength as he reaches his hands under my hair and holds the back of my neck. My head tilts up slightly. I wonder, if he‘ll kiss me. My lips part. Please kiss me.
His touch feels so good. Electric. Energized. Completely right.
My breaths deepen in anticipation of what’s coming next. I imagine him, will him, to lean in and meet my lips with his, but he’s given no indication that he wants to kiss me. Except for the fact that he’s so close, and hasn’t taken his eyes off me.
He spends a few long moments looking over the right side of my head and face, then turns his attention to the left.
“Does your head hurt?”
“No,” the word is barely audible.
“Your neck?”
I shake my head.
“You sure you’re okay?” His eyes pierce mine, they’re intense and beautiful, and I just want to stand here and stare into them. Maybe forever.
“I’m fine. Really.”
He lets go of my head, and takes my hands into each of his. He lifts and studies them in the same way.
“You’re not shaking anymore.”
Maybe on the outside. On the inside every nerve vibrates from his touch.
”The shock wore off.”
“Good.” He says, his voice warm and velvety. I think my spine turned to rubber.
And then nothing.
For a few long beats, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. He just stares into my eyes. The weight of the moment builds. It’s heavy. Palpable. I can’t breathe.
“You know, you still haven’t told me your name.”
“I haven’t?”
He shakes his head. “I could call you Mrs. Doherty if that’s the way you want to play it.” He smirks and raises his eyebrows playfully. “Or I could look at Timmy’s participation form, but I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from your luscious lips.”
I’m wet.
Dampness rushes to the area between my legs hearing those words come out of his mouth. Like dry kindling, the air around us cracks and sizzles with every look. Every touch.
I clear my throat, but my voice is still heavy. “Kim.”
“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He holds my head again, and rubs his thumbs back and forth across my cheeks.” The touch is gentle. Intimate. A completely inappropriate way for my son’s coach to be touching me.
He breathes hard. His eyes smolder. I stare at his full, pouty lips. The idea of him kissing me seems like it might actually happen. While I want him to because I long to be touched and desired, especially by him, I’m torn. I haven’t kissed anyone but Mike in almost two decades. That makes me feel old.
Very old.
Being attracted to this young man and wanting him to want me in return, feels wrong. Shame and guilt swell inside me.
I dart my eyes away, breaking the connection. This way I can hide any doubts or negativity he might find there. Keeping my eyes off him also helps me stay strong so I don’t throw myself against his chest, wind my fingers through his hair and pull his head down to meet my lips. I can’t, do that, no matter how much I want to, because I’m enjoying this connection with him too much to risk doing anything that might sever it.
His face inches in, just a bit closer. I meet him half way. That I can do, but he has to initiate it. I inhale and stay focused on his eyes, and not the warmth of his breath bushing against my lips.
Centimeters separate us. I stand perfectly still. I don’t move. I don’t close the distance any further because I’m afraid. I want to kiss him more than anything at this moment, but the thought terrifies me.
Turns out, I don’t have to worry about it. Chance lets go of me, drops his eyes, and reaches for his phone. The moment is gone, and I’m crushed. Overwrought with disappointment. Because I doubt either of us will allow things to get so heated again. It would be Irresponsible. Dangerous.
“C’mon,” he motions his head toward the door. “Your chariot has arrived.”
“My chariot?”
He raises his eyebrows and starts toward the door.
I take a few deep breaths as I follow him. I think I’ll be playing with my toy again later tonight. So much for forgetting about it. Looks like I might become dependent on it instead.
Chance stops suddenly and turns back to face me. I don’t realize he’s no longer moving, and bump right into a wall of warmth and thick, solid muscle. His hands grasp and hold my upper arms as he steadies me and searches my eyes once more.
“I want to kiss you, Kim. You need to know that. But I won’t. And it’s taking every ounce of self-control not to bend down and taste your sweet lips right now.”
“Why? I mean why not? I mean . . .”
He holds my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my head up so that I’ll look at him. “Because,” he cuts me off. “I’m afraid. I’m afraid you’re not ready, and if I move too fast, you’ll shut down and push me away.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because it does. Now don’t look so disappointed. Just know that when the time is right, I’m going to kiss you long and hard while I hold you pressed up against me. And when I do, I’ll work my hardest to make sure you’re not thinking about anything but that kiss. Our first kiss. And I have no intention of it being our last kiss.”
I nod.
“And one more thing, Kim. It’s going to be the best kiss of your life.”