Chapter 14 Fourteen

Chapter 14 Fourteen
REINA’S POV

I had been staring at the ceiling for two hours when my stomach growled again, a low insistent reminder that sometimes you just need a little something to settle the nerves. Sleep refused to come, not with my mind replaying the subway ride over and over: my arms locked around Orion’s waist, his heartbeat steady against my cheek, the way his body had gone rigid at first and then slowly relaxed as though he had decided not to push me away.

I rolled out of bed and reached into the drawer for the first thing my hand found. It was one of his old T-shirts, soft and faded, left behind weeks ago. The fabric carried his clean cotton scent mixed with the faint cedar from his closet and the lavender rinse I had used on the laundry earlier. The shirt fell to mid-thigh on me, loose and comfortable, so I padded barefoot to the kitchen without bothering with the overhead lights. The fridge light would be enough.

The cold white glow spilled across the marble when I opened the door. I found the peanut butter in the pantry, smooth rather than crunchy, and unscrewed the lid. A spoon felt like too much commitment tonight, so I dipped my finger instead. The taste was salty, sweet, and thick, exactly what I needed. I leaned against the counter and sucked the peanut butter off slowly, letting the familiar flavor ground me.

A soft footstep broke the quiet.

I turned, my finger still in my mouth.

Orion stood in the doorway. His hair was mussed from restless sleep and he wore only dark pajama pants that hung low on his hips. No shirt. My brain stuttered for a moment. I had never seen him like this. The faint light carved shadows along the defined lines of his shoulders, the lean strength of his arms, and the flat plane of his stomach that rose and fell with careful breaths. He was built solid, like someone who could carry heavy things without a second thought.

He stared at me. I pulled my finger free with a small sound.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I mumbled, feeling heat creep up my neck. “The city quiet feels too loud.”

He didn’t answer right away. He simply looked at me, really looked, as though he were trying to memorize something he wasn’t allowed to keep. His eyes appeared darker in the shadows, pupils wide.

I held out the jar like a peace offering. “Want some?”

He shook his head once, slowly, but his gaze never left my face.

I shrugged and licked the rest of the peanut butter from my finger. It was practical; no sense wasting it. Then I dipped back in for another scoop, moving more slowly this time because the intensity of his stare made my skin feel too sensitive.

He made a small rough sound in his throat.

I looked up. His eyes had dropped to my mouth and his lips were parted. His chest rose faster.

Perhaps he was hungry but too proud to admit it. Men could be like that sometimes.

“What?” I asked softly. “On the farm we share germs. It builds immunity.”

He still didn’t move. The air between us grew heavier and warmer, as though the kitchen had shrunk to just the narrow space separating our bodies.

Holding his gaze, I swiped a generous glob onto my index finger and extended my hand across the cold marble, offering it the way I had done on the farm countless times.

“Try it. It’s good protein.”

I expected him to refuse, to grunt or retreat quickly like he usually did.

He didn’t retreat.

He took one step forward, then another. The floor felt cool under my bare feet but my skin burned where his eyes touched it. He leaned down slowly, never breaking eye contact. His breath ghosted over my wrist. Then he closed his lips around my finger.

The warmth was soft and a little wet. His tongue brushed the pad of my finger as he took the peanut butter, deliberate and unhurried. Heat exploded up my arm and straight into my chest. My breath caught sharply.

He pulled back, swallowing. His eyes were wide, startled, as though he had surprised himself more than me. A faint flush climbed his neck.

“See?” I whispered. My voice came out husky. “Sharing is better.”

For one long heartbeat we stood frozen in the fridge light. The hum of the appliance was the only sound besides our breathing. His gaze dropped to my mouth again and mine dropped to his. The space between us shrank without either of us moving. I could feel the heat radiating off his bare skin and smell the faint clean scent of his soap mixed with the peanut butter on his lips.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I swayed forward half an inch. He mirrored the motion. Our faces were so close I could feel the warmth of his exhale on my cheek. His hand lifted slowly and hesitantly toward my waist.

I wanted it, I wanted his mouth on mine and I wanted to know what he tasted like beyond peanuts and restraint.

But self-preservation and the memory of every time he had walked away made me pull back first.

I stepped away so quickly that I bumped the counter. The jar clinked against the marble.

“Goodnight, Orion,” I said quickly. My voice cracked on his name.

I turned and hurried down the hall before he could speak, before I could change my mind and close the distance again.

I shut my bedroom door and leaned against it, chest heaving. My finger still tingled where his mouth had been.

I didn’t understand what was happening between us anymore.

But I knew one thing for certain: I wasn’t the only one losing sleep over it.

ORION’S POV

I woke parched with my brain fuzzy from a dream I couldn’t hold onto. The clock glowed 2:20 a.m. I needed water, air, something to stop the endless loop of her arms around me on the subway, her hands smoothing my coat, her flustered blush when she realized what she had done.

I padded to the kitchen in pajama pants and nothing else.

The fridge light hit me first, a cold white rectangle cutting through the dark.

Then I saw hReina leaned against the island in my old T-shirt. It slipped off one shoulder, exposing smooth skin and the delicate shadow of her collarbone. Her hair was a wild sleepy cloud. She was eating peanut butter straight from the jar with her finger.

I should have announced myself, coughed, or left.

I didn’t move.

She turned with her finger still in her mouth. She sucked it clean with a soft thoughtful pull that sent a direct line of heat straight through me.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she mumbled. “The city quiet feels too loud.”

She offered the jar. I shook my head. My throat was sandpaper. All I could see was the slipped neckline, the way the shirt clung to her in places, and the casual unconscious sensuality of her standing there in my clothes in the middle of my kitchen.

She shrugged. The shirt slipped another inch. Then she licked her finger clean again, slowly. Her eyes stayed on mine. She dipped back in.

It was the most innocently devastating thing I had ever witnessed. My control frayed with every second.

“What?” she asked. “On the farm we share germs. It builds immunity.”

Her mouth was shiny. I was paralyzed.

Then she held out her hand. A perfect glob of peanut butter balanced on her index finger. She extended it toward me.

“Try it. It’s good protein.”

Every rational thought screamed to refuse, to walk away. This was madness.

But it was her, looking at me with those clear expectant eyes, wearing my shirt, smelling like lavender and home.

I stepped forward.

The cold floor, the hum of the fridge, her scent mixed with peanuts. I leaned down and kept my eyes on hers. I closed my lips over her finger.

Salty-sweet. Soft skin. The slight pressure of her finger pad against my tongue. Heat detonated in my gut.

I swallowed and pulled back. Her eyes were wide. A beautiful blush spread across her cheeks.

“See?” she whispered. Her voice had gone husky and intimate. “Sharing is better.”

The words landed like a touch. I was wrecked. If I stayed one more second I would kiss her. I would back her against the counter and taste every inch of that mouth.

Our faces were inches apart. Her breath feathered my lips. My hand lifted toward her waist. She swayed forward.

Then she jerked back, bumped the counter, and the jar clinked.

“Goodnight, Orion.”

She fled.

I stood there with my heart hammering, still tasting peanuts and the faint salt of her skin.

I fled too, back to my room, door shut, back against the wood.

I was a grown man, a CEO. I had stared down worse than this.

And I had just been utterly destroyed by a jar of peanut butter and the woman wearing my shirt.

I slid down the door until I sat on the floor.

I could still feel her finger against my tongue.

I could still see the way her eyes had darkened when I took it.

She had pulled away first.

But she hadn’t run because she didn’t want it.

She had run because she did.

And that knowledge was more dangerous than anything else.