Page 39 of Daddies on Ice

“Ash,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah.” He leans his head down, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face.

He hesitates first, and that undoes me more than if he’d just swooped in and planted one on me.

His gaze drops to my mouth, climbs back to my eyes, then lingers on the place where my pulse jumps in my throat.

His hands are warm at my waist, fingers flexing once like he’s testing his own restraint. I feel the heat of him through my coat, the solid breadth of his chest only an inch from mine.

The slow rise and fall of his breathing brushing my lips with cold air and the faint scent of coffee.

My skin tightens, a shiver surging under it that has nothing to do with wind.

Every rule I’ve lived by crowds my head. Ash is off limits; he’s my brother’s best friend.

But my body doesn’t respond to logic.

My pulse races with anticipation while my mouth tingles with the need to know how he tastes.

He leans in that last fraction and stops, giving me the choice.

That’s what makes my knees weak—his control, the question in it, the promise that he won’t cross the line unless I move it for him.

If I do this, there’s no going back to safe jokes and borrowed hoodies.

He’ll never be just a friend I pretend not to have a crush on.

The thought scares me, but the ache curling low in my belly is stronger.

tip my chin, just enough. His breath catches, his jaw tightens, and I feel the muscles in his forearms shift where they hold me.

His mouth finds mine and the outside world slides away. Heat rolls through me in a clean, bright wave.

He kisses me like I’m a precious belonging, something to savor, and something he’s been holding back for a long time.

My fingers fist in his jacket and I drag him closer until our thighs meet.

He answers with a low sound that rumbles against my lips, and the vibration shoots straight through me, straight to my core.

His thumbs stroke the edges of my ribs, cautious at first, then firmer when I open for him.

I’m the one who breaks away first. I pull back a fraction and search his face.

His brown eyes are dark with desire and the way he looks at me so intensely, like he wants to continue where we left off, almost has me changing my mind.

I am supposed to be the responsible one. I’m supposed to be the woman who learned how to keep her life small and safe because that’s what keeps Becky safe.

I’m also supposed to remember that this is Ash, the man who spent years watching out for me because Trent asked him to, the man who looks at my daughter like she is a person instead of a nuisance.

None of those truths help with the one pulsing under my skin: I want him to kiss me again.

I do the only sensible thing I can think of. I blurt out a question. “Ash.” My voice is husky and I can tell the sound gets to him.

He shivers just a little, and I know it’s not all from the cold air. “Did you put those flowers on my doorstep?”

He frowns. “No. I would have told you if I did when you mentioned them earlier.”

I nod, and the nod does a poor job of hiding the small, ridiculous disappointment that flickers through me.