The Love at First Sight Box Set

by Romance, Smartypants

  Someone that beautiful shouldn't be allowed to walk free in the world, I thought. She leaped from the couch and all but tossed her laptop on the small kitchen counter in the middle of the converted garage apartment as she came to open the door.

  My heart skipped impatiently over the normal rhythm when the lock clicked, and the barrier between us swung open. Grace leaned against the door frame, an amused grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

  "What are you doing here?"

  I shoved my hands in my pockets, so I didn't do something stupid, like tug her face up to mine. "Would you believe me if I said I wasn't entirely sure?"

  Grace dropped her chin and laughed under her breath. When she lifted it again, she took a step back. "You better come in, before my aunt and uncle wonder who I'm sneaking in here at night."

  The breath that left my lungs was deep and slow, laden with relief and anticipation. For what, I wasn't sure. But even the thought of time spent with her—just her, even if all we did was talk—was enough to have my skin tightening over my whole body.

  My eyes adjusted to the dim light of the studio apartment. It was simply decorated, with more space to move around than I thought there'd be. A gray couch against one wall faced a television screen mounted straight across the room, a low console underneath it holding a couple of framed pictures that I couldn't make out. The kitchen was tucked into the opposite corner of the couch, one long stretch of counter that was uncluttered except for a coffee maker.

  On the walls were framed photos, and immediately, I guessed that she’d taken them.

  A kitchen island on wheels was parked in the space, two stools tucked under the lip. The back of the apartment held her bed, partially hidden by a half wall that gave the illusion of privacy. At the foot of the bed, I saw her boots laying in a pile.

  Like she realized what I'd seen, Grace rubbed her bare foot up the side of the opposite leg. Her toenails were painted a bright scarlet color, and I wondered at that, since she always hid them.

  "So you are capable of walking around without those boots on," I teased.

  She bit down on her smile and turned slightly. "So it seems."

  "This is a nice place."

  "You've never been in here?" she asked, walking to the kitchenette and peering in the fridge with a frown. "I don't have much to offer you, unfortunately. Some cheap wine and Diet Coke and that's about it."

  I shook my head. "No thanks, and um, no, I haven't. Never had cause to when I've been here to see your aunt and uncle. The times I’ve been here for Conner, Levi was never around. Not much cause to see the inside."

  "Ice water?" she asked, holding an empty glass.

  "Sure." I wasn't thirsty, but she seemed nervous, flitting from spot to spot in the kitchen. She reminded me of a butterfly, trying to find a safe place to land. While she filled the cup with ice, I pulled the edge of her laptop to face me.

  A shot filled the screen, and I vaguely remembered her taking it, aiming her lens straight up the trunk of one of the massive trees we passed. The picture made me feel tiny, insignificant compared to the towering tree and the ones surrounding.

  I whistled. "Grace," I shook my head, "this is … incredible."

  Her cheeks were flushed pink when she set down the water and stood next to me. Together, we stared at the image of the trees. She pointed to a spot on the screen that I hadn't noticed. "I need to tweak that part, I didn't catch the light the way I wanted, but it's a good start."

  "I can't imagine being able to see the world this way."

  "What way?" She tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear.

  "Your eyes see all the same things I do, but I'd never think to change my perspective like that." I moved my gaze from her profile back to the screen. I gestured to the mousepad. "May I?"

  The way her eyes filled her face, wide and sweet, reminded me of the way she listened to me speak when we were sitting at the picnic table. She nodded. "As long as you don't judge the lack of editing."

  "It was the first thing I noticed," I said around a smile. "How terrible they looked."

  Grace dug her elbow into my side.

  "Ouch," I muttered.

  My big, clumsy fingers tried to move the cursor on the screen, but I wasn't sure where to go, when she finally took pity and nudged me to the side. Her shoulder pressed against my arm, and I debated whether I should move out of the way.

  But she didn't.

  So I decided not to either.

  We stood like that, with the warmth of her body pressed against my side, for a few minutes while she showed me the shots she'd taken. Briefly, I glanced down at the top of her head to gauge her height without the ever-present boots. Grace was tall, but with bare feet, she barely cleared my shoulder. I set my hand on the back of the stool just to the side of her, and her shoulder blades slid against the inside of my arm.

  I felt like a teenager again, frozen in the seats of the movie theater, trying to contemplate the best way to put my arm around the girl that made my heart race. There was nothing I could do except let my senses touch on each tiny piece of Grace that I was granted access to.

  The scent of something clean and light from her skin.

  The way her hand curved when she pointed out a detail in a picture that I'd never be able to take for myself.

  The edge of her collarbone where it fell in a clean, straight line under the skin on her chest, the skin that looked impossibly soft.

  I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes, focusing on the way she leaned against my arm. Focused on how she didn't pull away.

  Those shoulder blades on my skin, covered only by the thin straps of her white tank top, rattled something loose inside me.

  Something hungry. Starving. Ravenous.

  With my eyes closed, I heard the shaky way she inhaled when I gripped the back of the stool and curled my arm more firmly into her, when I turned my nose toward the top of her head and pulled in a deep breath of that scent.

  When I looked down, her hands were fisted on the countertop, shaking from the effort of keeping them still.

  "I'd take a picture of that," I told her, voice low and charged.

  She tilted her chin up toward me. "Of what?"

  In the low light of the apartment, her eyes glowed like melted gold.

  "Your hands." I licked my suddenly dry lips. "I feel like they're telling me something that I can't figure out."

  Grace peered down at the fists she was making, and her fingers relaxed, the skin no longer white around her knuckles.

  "What are they telling me, Grace?" I begged.

  She ducked under my arm and I exhaled heavily. Without the heat from her body against mine, I took a second to get myself under control. When I turned, she was handing me her camera.

  "Go ahead," she said.

  I tilted my head. "You want me to take your picture?"

  Grace studied the camera, carefully removing the lens cap and pulling it up to her eyes. She aimed it at my face, and I wondered what she saw. If I looked like I was one thread away from snapping, because that's how I felt.

  I'd never felt like I was one quick step away from freedom, but here, I was. One nudge over the edge of the cliff, and she'd have me free falling without a parachute. I'd never, ever wanted it so badly.

  When I heard the click of the shutter, I rubbed the back of my neck. "Can I see?"

  She ignored me, pulling the camera away so she could look at the digital image on the back. Her lips curved in a secret little smile.

  "What do you see?" I asked.

  Her chest expanded on an inhale. "Frustration." Her eyes met mine. "Want."

  Words lodged in my chest, and I couldn't tear them loose.

  I held my hand out and she passed the camera to me. With a rough swallow, I squinted at the tiny viewfinder once it was at eye-level. Grace came into my eye line, holding my gaze with such directness that I fought the urge not to throw the camera across the room simply because it was between us.

  It was her turn to ask.
"What do you see?"

  My finger pushed the slick button on top of the camera, and her mouth curled in surprise that I took a shot.

  I pushed the button again as she took a step closer.

  "You're not answering me," she said lightly.

  "Because I can hardly think straight when you're looking at me like that." My admission was rough and hard, out before I could stop it.

  She took another step, within reach now, and one of her hands slid up my forearm.

  One more picture, the sound of the shutter snapping between us like a shot.

  Somehow, I set it down on the counter without smashing it.

  "You can't lie to a camera," Grace said quietly, watching her hand on my arm before the other landed on my heaving chest. "It captures things as are they are, good or bad or ugly or beautiful."

  I slid an arm around her waist and tightened my grip until she was flush against me. My other hand pushed up the back of her neck and into her hair.

  "This is insane," she breathed, dropping her forehead onto my chest.

  "No, it's not."

  Grace lifted her head and pinned me in place. "Tucker, seventy-two hours ago, I hated you. You can't tell me this doesn't feel a little nuts."

  I couldn't stop my smile. "You didn't hate me. Not really."

  One eyebrow lifted. "Wanna bet?"

  Extracting my hand from her neck, I covered hers and slid it up my chest until it was over the space where my heart was trying to thrash its way out of my body. Her throat worked on a swallow.

  "Hate feels like a lot of things, Grace, but it isn't this. This might not make any sense to anyone else, but it does to you and me. And that's what matters." Her fingers curled into the material of my shirt, searching for an anchor, no matter how small it might be. "Do you want to know what I saw through that camera?"

  She nodded.

  Lifting the hand that was covering hers, I traced the features of her face, slowly and carefully, like I'd shatter them if I was too rough.

  "I saw fear." My thumb traveled her forehead when it wrinkled in confusion.

  "I'm not afraid of you, Tucker."

  I hummed. "I know." My fingertip traced the line of her nose and her eyes fluttered shut. "But this, this you're afraid of, and I don't know why."

  "Aren't you?"

  Taking both hands, I cupped the sides of her face until she looked at me. "No," I insisted. My thumbs swept her cheeks and dipped to the edges of her soft lips. "You said you saw want, didn't you?"

  Another nod.

  "Do you know what I want?" I told her, brushing a kiss on her forehead. She shivered.

  Grace tightened her hold on me, bringing her hips flush to my body, and I had to grit my teeth when she hummed at what she felt pressed against her. I could control a lot of things, but that was not one of them. It was painful, how hard I was for her. "I think I can take a guess, big boy."

  Grinning, I shook my head, and when she smiled up at me, my heart cracked clean in half.

  I turned us, sliding my hands down over the curves of her ass and boosting her up onto the island. I took hold of her chin and ran the edge of my nose down hers. When I spoke, I let the words come out so close to her mouth that our lips brushed with each letter. "I want to taste that smile, Angry Girl."

  For one breathless beat, our eyes locked, the thread snapped, and then her mouth was on mine.

  Chapter 42

  Grace

  I used to think that kissing was a tepid prelude to the big show.

  I'm sure that years of tepid interactions with tepid men only served to reinforce that belief. Obligatory kisses, tongue touching tongue, heavy petting, lather, rinse, repeat, until they reached the desired level of physical interaction. And when all you've experienced is lukewarm, bland, and blah, it only takes a millisecond to recognize when someone is about to reframe your entire friggin’ universe.

  For me, that millisecond was when I knew that Tucker Ames Haywood was schooling me on the art of the kiss.

  From the moment he walked through the door—taking up all the space, the oxygen, my brain cells—we danced around this. He knew it and I knew it. So, when he slid his hands down my backside, lifting me easily onto the kitchen counter, I had absolutely no doubt that my world was about to get rocked. And that was before I put us out of our collective misery and sealed my mouth over his.

  The millisecond was all I had with my hands wrapped firmly around the reins. Then Tucker gripped the sides of my face, those big, warm, calloused palms against my cheeks, and he tilted.

  It was the tilt, ladies and gentleman, that had me seeing stars.

  This was nothing tepid. It was a blaze that I felt down into the curl of my toes. His lips were warm and his tongue cool, mint fresh and biting on the slick surface when he teased the inside edge of my upper lip.

  Open up, I practically heard him command.

  No shoving and hard sucking when I did, but a tug of my bottom lip with his own, like it tasted too good to him to release immediately.

  The tug pulled a whimper from somewhere deep in the pit of my belly, something dark and swirling and powerful. That power roared through my limbs when he tilted again, sealing his lips over mine, pushing and pulling, taking and giving, until I was clutching him so tightly to me that I could hardly breathe.

  Neither could he, because he pulled back and sucked in air, staring at me with need-darkened eyes. His massive chest heaved an inhale, and he cupped the back of my head with the whole of his hand, dragging me back to him for more.

  It was, without a doubt, the best kiss of my entire life.

  Minutes or hours passed, I couldn't be sure, but as he tasted my tongue and pulled it into his mouth, I felt the space between my legs throb where they were wrapped around his hips.

  "You taste so good," he groaned into my neck, biting at the tender edge of my jaw.

  "Yeah?" I gasped.

  His answer was a growl, a baring of teeth that I felt over my whole body. "I want to eat you whole."

  Hands spread over my back, and I shoved mine up underneath his shirt, found hot skin and bunching muscles, hard bones and a thudding heart in the places that my fingers wandered. His belt buckle was cold, and his fingers were strong, digging into my hips when I investigated that area too. His beard against my face felt incredible, and new, and dangerous, because the next logical thought was how it would tickle my chest, my thighs, when his mouth started wandering.

  Tucker kissed me like he wanted nothing else for the rest of his life.

  Like food and water and air would never take precedence over what was happening between his mouth and mine.

  He kissed me like I was precious.

  Like I was dirty, and he was too.

  Sweet kisses on my nose and cheek, then he'd grind himself—big and hard and tempting—against me, whispering into my skin how delicious I was to him, how he knew, all along, that I would be. In turn, I ran my palm down the front of his jeans, arched my back when he filled his palm with the weight of my breast, still covered with cotton and lace.

  It wasn't enough, not nearly.

  And at the exact same time, it seemed impossible that it could ever get better than this.

  "Bed," I gasped, when he tugged on my earlobe with his teeth. "We don't have to … do anything," I promised, leaning back so he could see my face. I dragged a finger down the line that bisected his ab muscles, and he sucked in a pained breath. "Or the couch. They'd be a bit more comfortable."

  He watched my face, a flush covering his cheeks.

  "My ass is going numb," I clarified.

  His face split into a smile, and the booming laugh that came from his chest spread a warm, gooey glow of happiness over me.

  Instead of moving so I could hop down, he merely hoisted me up, two hands under my butt. I smiled, keeping my legs tight around his waist, and my arms draped over his broad shoulders.

  My fingers wandered along the seams of his shirt as he plopped back on the couch. In this position,
my legs straddled his, but to my surprise, he didn't dive straight back for my mouth. He didn't rip my shirt off or try to peel off my shorts.

  Again, he tilted his head, like the change in perspective would change something monumental. But this time, it was to study me with a lopsided smile on his ridiculously handsome face.

  Tucker lifted his finger and used it to trace the edge of my nose, and even though I wanted to watch him, my eyes fluttered shut.

  Following some invisible line, the tip of that finger touched the middle of my lips and down my chin, along the line of the front of my throat, and then the hard edge of my sternum, ending at the V of my tank top. Instead of pulling the tank down to reveal my bra, he spread his hand over my skin. I opened my eyes to look. Pinky to thumb, it spanned almost the entire width of my chest, and I studied him just as carefully as he studied me.

  "Your heart is beating so fast." He leveled me with those eyes. "You still scared of this thing between us, Pretty Girl?"

  A grin spread over my face. If I was any less scared, even one iota happier, I'd explode. "I've graduated nicknames, huh?"

  "It's hard to call you angry when you're sitting there looking at me with such a sweet smile on your face."

  My fingers crept to the edge of his shirt and toyed with the warm skin underneath. I could not stop touching him, and when he lifted his hips up at my touch, I smiled. He had no idea how not-scared I was. How incredibly sure, how settled, how certain, I was. "Aren't you scared of this thing between us?" I asked.

  Tucker breathed out through his nose, a hard puff of air. "Not scared, Grace. No."

  If my subtext was unclear, I decided to take the leap while we were in this post-first-kiss haze of honesty. My forehead wrinkled while I tried to decide if tact was wasted at this point, given what a harpy I'd been when I met him.

  "You're thinking really hard about something."

  I glanced at him in surprise, and his astute observation had the words tumbling out. "I don't want this to be a rebound. I don't want you to walk out of here tonight, relieved because you got something crazy out of your system."