Page 22 of More than Fiction (Misty Springs #1)

As he said that, my last table stood up, shooting me a quick wave goodbye, leaving Corbin and me alone in the quiet solitude of the dimly lit bar.

“Okay. Thanks,” I said, feeling a flutter of excitement low in my belly.

The next hour passed in a blur of motions I’d done a hundred times before—wiping down the bar, balancing the register, restocking napkins—but tonight, every task felt magnified.

Because I wasn’t alone.

Because I could feel him watching me.

Corbin sat quietly at the far end, nursing his whiskey, his phone in hand but barely touched.

The air buzzed with a charged sort of quiet, like the seconds before a summer storm.

Each time I glanced in his direction, his gaze darted elsewhere—toward his screen, the floor, his glass. But not before I caught that flicker. That unmistakable awareness.

So, I let myself lean into it.

Just a little.

I straightened my posture the way Penny always nagged me to, lifted my chin, smoothed a loose piece of hair behind my ear.

I bent to reach under the bar more gracefully than usual, careful not to smack my head like I typically would, and tried not to smirk when I felt his gaze slide right back to me.

When I finally turned off the last light behind the bar, I looked straight at him .

He was already watching.

This time, neither of us looked away.

His mouth curved slowly. Not quite a smirk, not quite a smile—something sultrier, more persuasive.

My heart thudded once, hard.

“You ready?” he asked, voice low.

I nodded, grabbed my bag, and stepped outside with him into the crisp night air toward a sleek black car.

“Nice car,” I commented as I rubbed my arms, cursing myself for leaving my coat at home.

He slid his dark coat off his arms and draped it over my shoulders, the chivalrous move warming me more than the soft material did. Then he opened the passenger door for me.

“It’s just a rental.” He shrugged.

The interior was pristine, the leather seats buttery soft and warmed by the car’s heating system. Corbin had pressed a button and started it before we even left the building.

I tried not to let my awe show as I settled in. After seeing those photos of Corbin, a car like this was probably as mundane as Devyn’s Corolla.

The fabric of his wool coat was soft to the touch, with a rich texture that screamed wealth and luxury. Its scent was intoxicating—cedar and citrus—blurring my other senses as I tried to savor every note.

As Corbin turned onto the quiet streets, I twisted my hands in my lap, reaching for something to say to the intimidating force of a man beside me.

Before I could get a word out, Corbin’s deep voice broke through the dark cab.

“So,” he began, glancing over at me briefly, “I noticed you reading on the plane. Do you have a favorite author?”

I swallowed my unsaid words down—lucky for me, books were my favorite subject.

I smiled, relaxing into the seat. “That’s tough. Right now? Probably Monica McKenzie. I know it’s cliché. The romance genre can be so derivative, but I love a good love story.”

He nodded appreciatively. “Not going to fight you on that one. She’s very successful. Anyone else? ”

I paused, realizing he didn’t mention that his company had published Monica’s stories. Perhaps he wasn’t that close to the publishing side of the company?

It was also doubtful that somebody at his level would get involved in the hiring process for my position.

Maybe I shouldn’t even bring up my desire to work there. Maybe it would only hurt my chances.

Instead, I relished in sharing a few of my other favorites—the classics I’ve read a million times over and the novels that shaped my view of the world, of love, of life.

The conversation continued in between my turn-by-turn directions. We flowed through genres, favorite characters, and literary pet peeves, each exchange laced with light teasing and the occasional shared laugh.

Before I knew it, he was placing the car in park in the lot outside my apartment.

“It’s been a while since I talked books with someone who shares so many of the same interests as me,” he said, turning to me, his expression unreadable.

I felt a blush creep up my neck as my gaze locked with his. “Yeah, me too.”

We both turned away from each other, our silence grew heavy as the cab of the car brimmed with unspoken tension.

“Well, thank you. For the ride.” I unbuckled and startled slightly when his seatbelt snapped open as well.

“I’ll walk you to your door.” His offer was genuine, but his tone had an indistinguishable edge.

Corbin walked close beside me, his shoulder at my eye-level, our footsteps soft against the pavement. The air was cold, and the parking lot was quiet—like the rest of the town at this hour.

He didn’t say anything as we reached the stairs, just followed close, the steps creaking under our weight. I could feel the heat of him behind me, his presence pressing against the cold air.

Halfway up, I glanced back—he looked up at me, and didn’t look away.

His eyes looked like he was fighting some internal battle, but I didn’t ask. I just continued my silent ascent to my apartment .

At the top, I fumbled with my keys—my fingers shaky from the chilly air and his magnetic, confounding presence. When the lock clicked, I pushed open the door and flicked on the interior light.

I turned and watched as Corbin’s eyes dropped to my mouth before peering over my shoulder into my apartment.

Before I could overthink it, the words spilled out, sharp and sudden. “Looking for someone?”

He shrugged, cool and unbothered.

“I live alone. Despite what you may have heard, I don’t have a boyfriend,” I clarified, slipping his coat off and holding it between us.

He stepped closer, and unlike our moment in the hotel room, I didn’t back away.

His hand reached for his coat, and my nerve endings sprang to life when his fingers brushed across my skin.

It started as a flutter, isolated where he touched me before ricocheting through my body, skimming just below my skin before settling between my legs.

His eyes snapped up as if reading my mind—they bore into me and mined out every salacious thought.

I watched his face as he took a deep, contemplative breath before he skimmed his fingertips slowly up my arm, leaving a trail of scorched skin in their wake.

Every hair on my arm stood on end, a shiver coursing through me as two fronts collided—the inferno burning inside me clashing with the cold air outside.

Once his hand reached my neck, he cupped the side of it, and my core became molten as his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

Fire burned in his amber eyes, partially covered by the dark hair that spilled down his forehead.

He leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving me time to stop him.

But I didn’t want to.

His lips gently touched mine in a soft press.

His kiss was chaste, but once his lips came into contact with mine, I lost every ounce of restraint.

I kissed him back—hungrily, without hesitation. My mouth opened for him as white hot need coursed through me.

His coat fell to the ground between us as our bodies crashed together .

The tender beginning of our kiss descended into an unrestrained clashing of teeth and tongue.

I moaned, and he echoed with one of his own, the noise vibrating through my lips and shuddering through me all the way down to my toes.

His hand wrapped around to the back of my neck and fisted in my hair, his other low on my back, pulling my body hard into his.

My hands raked through his dark roots, grabbing onto the thick tendrils of his hair.

I shifted my hips forward and moaned again as I felt the rigid outline of him.

Suddenly, he pulled back, releasing his grip on me one finger at a time, like he had to force each muscle to move one by one.

His forehead pressed against mine, his words tight and hoarse. “I have to stop.”

He stepped back, bending over to pick up the discarded coat. He brushed his hand over the material, as if wiping away some unseen dirt. His brow furrowed before smoothing out as his eyes met mine once more, the inferno snuffed out and replaced with a soft glow.

“Good night, 1C,” he said softly.

I didn’t have time to respond before he bounded down the stairs, his long legs taking two at a time. He didn’t look back.

Confusion and embarrassment clung to me. I backed into my apartment and quickly shut the door, throwing the deadbolt and the chain lock closed for good measure.

I peered out of my window, unable to identify more than his outline as he sat in the dim light of his car. After a few minutes of sitting in the dark, he drove off, his taillights glowing in the late-night hour.

My fingers traced my swollen lips as my mind raced—dizzy spell running rampant.

What was that?

Did he regret it?

Did I misread everything?

Exhaustion settled deep in my bones as the chaotic whirlwind of the last couple of days weighed on me.

Later that night, despite my fatigue, restlessness clung to me as I lay in bed, my lips lingering with phantom brushes of Corbin’s tongue.

After an hour of tossing and turning and in a desperate need to ward off dizzy spells, I adhered to Devyn’s sage advice— science or something .

And Corbin Buescher became the inspiration for relieving some of my pent-up tension.