Love Next Door (Lakeside #1) by Helena Hunting

“Stop saying that. It’s pissing me off. If I’d known it was you, I would have been at your door every damn day for the rest of the summer.”

“I still can’t believe it was you,” I say softly.

“Seems like fate is trying to tell us something, don’t you think?” He slides his chair across the rough wood floor, closer to me.

“Maybe Bee is trying to send us messages from heaven.”

“Maybe.” He reaches out and drags my chair away from the makeshift table so we’re knee to knee, his legs parting to bracket mine.

He props his forearms on his thighs; his knuckles barely graze my knee and send a shiver running down my spine. “Can I tell you something else?”

“Sure.” It’s more breath than word.

“You make me nervous.” His voice is soft and low.

It’s also not what I expected to hear. I tip my head, unsure where he’s going with this.

He links our pinkies. “Do you want to know why?”

“Sure.”

His fingertips glide along my palm, and a wave of goose bumps flashes over my skin. “Because I feel like you see me. Like it doesn’t matter what I say or do. I’m transparent, and you’re already under my skin.”

“And why does that make you nervous?”

He runs his thumb over my knuckles and lifts my hand. “Because I want you to like what you see, the same way I like what I see in you.” He drops his head until I can feel his breath break across the back of my hand. “Do you, Dillion?” The end of his nose brushes my knuckle. “Like what you see, that is.”

Another shiver runs through me. “Tonight, I do.” It’s a breathy whisper.

He peeks up at me and grins. “And before tonight?”

“I was on the fence.”

“What changed?”

“Tonight you showed me the real you.”

His lips touch the back of my hand, and I exhale a shuddery breath.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Okay.” I nod.

He lifts his head, eyes searching mine as he twirls an errant curl around his finger, then drags a single finger along the edge of my jaw.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been very nice to you.”

He nods in agreement. “It’s part of your allure, just like mine is needling the shit out of you until I get a reaction.”

“You’re definitely good at that.”

“Good enough that if I kissed you, you might kiss me back?”

“There’s a reasonably good chance of that.”

He leans in closer and tips his head to the right, so I angle mine and meet him halfway. Just before our lips connect, he tucks his thumb under my chin and mutters, “I’d better not fuck this up.”

My chuckle turns into a sigh when his lips brush over mine, sending an electric jolt through me. We both still.

“Did you feel that?”

“It’s probably just the storm.” I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull his mouth back to mine to see whether I’m right. I also notice that the patter of rain has slowed significantly, and it’s not nearly as forceful or violent as it was when we first stumbled in here.

I don’t have much time to focus on those details because the moment Van’s lips connect with mine again, a bolt of sizzling lust zings through me. Heat follows in a heady rush when his velvet-soft tongue sweeps out to meet mine. We both groan, and the hand around the back of his neck tightens, as if I’m trying to anchor him to me. At the same time his fingers slide along the edge of my jaw and tangle in my hair.

Van angles his head more, and I mirror him, opening wider, giving him access to explore, go deeper, give and take more.

I’ve been kissed plenty of times in my life—some of them have been amazing, while others have been lackluster—but this takes me right back to that kiss on the beach all those years ago. This is lust combustion. I don’t know if it’s pure, unfiltered chemistry or the fact that we’ve shared so much of ourselves tonight, but I find myself sinking into this kiss, desperate for it not to end.

Our twined hands part, mine finding his knee, and he mirrors the movement. He spreads his legs wider, and I slide to the edge of my chair, wanting to get closer. I haven’t had this kind of contact in months. And what I did have with Jason was good—nice, like a pretty sunset, something to appreciate and enjoy—but this isn’t the same.

When it’s clear that my sitting on this chair is impeding our ability to get closer to each other, I snake my arm around his neck and rise, tapping on the outside of his left knee, hoping he understands what I’m asking without having to disconnect my mouth from his and use actual words.

Thankfully, he seems to be able to read my mind. He closes his knees and we change positions, his knees inside mine now, giving me the opportunity to use him as my chair. I sit on his thighs and slide forward until we’re chest to chest.

It doesn’t matter that we’re both wearing jeans; I can still feel that prominent bulge, now nestled between my thighs. We make plaintive sounds into each other’s mouths, the kiss gaining fervor. One hand stays tangled in my wet hair; the other arm circles my waist and pulls me tighter against him, bodies flush. I roll my hips and press closer, as if I’m trying to meld us into one.

All the while, I let my free hand explore, tracing the contour of muscle under his shirt. The hairs on his arm stand on end, and goose bumps flash over his skin. I edge back a little, the chair groaning with the shift in weight. Van’s fingers flex on my hip, slipping lower, pressing into the soft fleshy part of my ass.