I Think I Love You

by Layne, Lauren

  As he listened to the steady rhythm of her breathing, the occasional sleepy sigh as though she was in the middle of a dream, he waited for the panic. The sense that they’d made a terrible mistake, that nothing would ever be the same.

  No panic came.

  Sure, it may not ever be exactly as it was, but he wouldn’t trade last night for anything.

  Of all the women he’d slept with—and while he wasn’t a total player, there’d been quite a few—he’d never really thought much about sex being anything other than . . . sex.

  Last night had been different. Significant somehow.

  If anything scared him, it was the fact that he didn’t want last night to be just last night.

  He wanted more.

  Brit stirred, shuffling under the covers before opening her eyes.

  She blinked at him. Slowly at first, in an indifferent oh, it’s Hunter kind of way, then faster, as he imagined last night’s events were catching up with her.

  He slid an arm under his pillow and smiled at her. “Hey.”

  She just looked at him. “Were you watching me sleep?”

  “Maybe. Too creepy?”

  “Super creepy,” she said, rolling to her back and stretching.

  To his relief, she didn’t seem the least bit freaked out. Instead, it felt sort of like a morning last weekend when he’d slept over platonically. And while those mornings had been fine . . . Hunter found he wasn’t all that interested in platonic anything at the moment.

  Not when her stretch had her back arching slightly and he was pretty sure he could see the outline of nipple, even through the layers of the sheet and her shirt.

  Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

  Maybe I’ll just find out.

  His lower half fully awake now, Hunter reached a hand out toward her.

  Brit batted at it with an alarmed expression. “What the heck are you doing?”

  Hunter’s stomach dropped a little. Maybe he’d read her wrong. Maybe she was regretting last night.

  Or maybe she simply wasn’t interested in a repeat. The thought was . . . jarring. Disappointing. A little crushing, if he was totally honest.

  He carefully hid all of this as he drew his hand back. “Apologies.”

  “You think?” she said with a laugh. “I don’t know what the heck kind of women you hook up with, but sexy time before toothbrushing time is a serious no-no in my book. I doubt even Marilyn could feel sexy pre-brush.”

  Hunter felt a surge of hope. Well, if that was all it was . . .

  He slid out of bed and made a beeline for the bathroom. A moment later he returned, armed with two toothbrushes, both ready with minty paste.

  She was sitting up by now, laughing. “You can’t be serious—”

  He shoved the toothbrush in her mouth and then put the other in his.

  She sat still, then shook her head and began brushing. “Where’d you even get that?” she asked around a mouthful of foam, nodding at his brush.

  “Under your sink. Wasn’t opened; figured it was up for grabs.”

  Brit rolled her eyes.

  For a minute there was only the sound of the mundane morning task but knowing what would come after it—hopefully—was anything but mundane.

  Brit caught his gaze, then smiled almost shyly. He smiled back, less shy, and a moment later the two of them were grinning around foamy toothbrushes like a couple of kids in lov—

  Nope. He wasn’t going there.

  He retreated into the bathroom, and she followed him in, unabashedly spitting and rinsing, and Hunter felt a strange sense of relief that she was still comfortable enough around him to do so.

  She paused in the process of wiping her face with her towel. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Because I adore you. I adore this.

  Instead of saying it, he stepped toward her, sliding his fingers beneath her jaw, tilting her face up to his with his thumb before lowering his lips to hers.

  The kiss was slow and languid but not the least bit short on passion.

  Her skin was still warm from sleep as he skimmed his hands over her, touching everything he could reach. Arms, breasts, down to her waist, cupping her perfect ass and pulling her against him.

  She moaned as he dragged the pad of his thumb over her nipple, and he pushed her against the wall, less languid now as he lifted her shirt up, baring her breasts to his hands, his mouth.

  “Hunter,” Brit said on a sigh as he closed his lips over her nipple.

  Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him close as his tongue teased her breast.

  Encouraged by her panting, Hunter slowly lowered to his knees, skimming down her stomach as his fingers hooked into her underwear.

  She stiffened, the fingers in his hair less gentle now, tugging him back up.

  He looked up in question, and she flinched a little in embarrassment. “I don’t mean to be that fussy, prudish girl, but I’m not showered and—”

  Hunter understood immediately. Standing, he grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the tub, turning on the water.

  “Wait,” she said on a laugh. “I didn’t mean—”

  He ignored her protest, holding her close with one hand, testing the temperature of the shower stream. When it was hot, he turned back her with a deliberately wicked smile. “Arms up.”

  Her protests abandoned, she did as he demanded. He dragged the shirt over her head and tossed it in the general direction of her hamper.

  Hunter ditched his boxers as she wiggled out of her underwear. Brit hesitated only slightly before taking his offered hand and stepping carefully into the tub.

  “I should tell you,” she said, turning toward him as he followed her in, closing the curtain behind him. “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Showered?” he said, deadpan.

  She laughed. “No, I mean showered with someone.”

  “Delighted to be the first,” he said huskily, putting his hands on her waist and pulling her in for a kiss.

  Though he wanted to touch all of her, taste all of her, he satisfied himself by wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer against him, brushing his lips over her mouth again and again until all traces of shyness left her.

  Brit’s arms lifted, wrapping around his neck, and she kissed him back with unabashed ardor.

  Someday, Hunter promised himself as they kissed passionately, he would get this woman into a fancy resort shower. Something with plenty of room, multiple showerheads, maybe a seat of some kind for wicked deeds.

  For now he made do as best he could with the standard tub size, touching every part of her he could reach, her skin becoming warmer and warmer as the hot water sluiced over them.

  Hunter tilted her back, his mouth worshipping her breasts as his palm slid up her thigh until he found her, warm and wet.

  She gasped as a finger slid inside her, cried out when his teeth nipped lightly at her nipple. “Hunter.”

  Here. I’m here. Her hips began to move against his hand, and he added a second finger, thumb finding her clit and circling.

  Her fingers clung to his arms, nails digging desperately into his biceps. “Come,” he said against the tip of her breast. “Come, Brit.”

  She did as he commanded, milking his finger as she rode his hand with little cries of pleasure.

  He took his time bringing her down, not releasing her until she’d stopped shaking.

  Hunter straightened and she reached for him, one hand skating down his chest, below his waist. He captured her fingers and kissed them with a smile. “You have no idea how much I want your hands on me, but first . . .”

  He reached for her loofah and body wash, wincing a little. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone at work I used a pink loofah.”

  She laughed. “Um, I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t tell anyone at work about this, boss.”

  Oh, right. That.

  He’d deal with that on Monday. He’d deal with all of it on Monday.

  For now he
contented himself with squeezing some fussy body wash onto the loofah and bathing every inch of her.

  She returned the favor, ignoring his protests that the shower gel smelled like roses.

  “It’s gardenia,” she said as she turned him around and began washing his back. “And it’s nice. I bet Lincoln would like it.”

  He gave her a dark look over his shoulder. “Do I even want to know why you’re thinking of Mathis while we’re naked in your shower?”

  “I’m just saying. He doesn’t protest over nice things.”

  “Because he’s like an old woman trapped in Clark Kent’s body,” Hunter grumbled.

  She laughed, the sound of it making him smile. A few minutes later he kissed her and then washed her hair. A first for him, and a surprisingly sexy task, at least until she started getting bossy about the conditioner process. He kissed her to shut her up and then washed his own hair—quickly—because he couldn’t stand much more of being naked with her without being inside her.

  Turning off the water, he grabbed a towel, drying first her, then himself. Brit started to reach for a comb beside her sink, but Hunter grabbed it out of her hand and threw it back down.

  “Hey! I need—”

  He scooped her into his arms and carried her out of the bathroom. “Me,” he said for her as he laid her on the bed. “You need me.”

  Hunter started to reach for her but paused, feeling suddenly unsure. “Right?”

  Please?

  Her gaze went tender and she touched the wet hair at his temple. “Yeah. Yeah, I need you.”

  He growled in primal male satisfaction, and this time when he lowered to his knees, he was determined not to be stopped.

  And she didn’t even try, letting him pull her to the edge of the bed. Letting him part long legs, settle between smooth thighs. She cried out as his tongue slid over her, head falling back as she put her hand to the back of his head, holding him close.

  He explored her slowly, learning what she liked, figuring out exactly what she needed; then he settled into a relentless, unapologetic rhythm until she shattered against his mouth.

  Brit fell back weakly to the bed as he stood. He lay down beside her, hand stroking over her stomach until she opened her eyes and gave him a shy look. “Well.”

  He smiled. “Well.”

  Hunter rolled to his back, pulling her with him, her breasts soft against his chest, her legs straddling his.

  She nuzzled his neck as she rotated her hips against his cock, and he groaned, his hands spreading wide on her back.

  Brit moved away just long enough to grab a condom from the nightstand drawer, and then she rolled it onto him in one smooth stroke that nearly had him coming then and there like a high school kid ready to explode.

  Then she lowered over him, her hand guiding him into her warm heat, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long. Not with her taste still on his lips, not with her breasts bouncing enticingly in front of his face. Not with her riding him faster and faster—

  Hunter shouted as he lost all control, his hips jerking up, fingers clinging to her as she took him over the edge like some sort of sexual siren built for his pleasure, and his alone.

  When he finally stopped shuddering, when he finally could think again, Brit eased off of him, cuddling against his side before kissing his shoulder.

  He was still too dazed to do much more than brush his lips against her hair and pull her close.

  Brit’s arm draped over his waist, the gesture both casual and possessive, and . . . right.

  He didn’t know how long they stayed there. Thought they may have drifted off, maybe not.

  Only when he became aware of the nuisance of the condom did he force himself to rouse, going to the bathroom to take care of business.

  When he came out, she was rummaging around in her dresser for clean clothes, her ass perfectly heart-shaped and making him hard all over again.

  She turned, then laughed when she saw his heated expression. “Don’t even think about it,” she said. “I need coffee and I need it now.”

  Hunter could use some caffeine himself, so he retrieved his boxers from the bathroom, then sat at the counter and watched as she pulled out the box of pods for her fancy coffeemaker.

  She handed him the first cup, and he smiled in thanks. A minute later she joined him at the counter with her own mug and a bottle of vanilla coffee creamer.

  “So,” she said, taking a sip.

  He took a sip of coffee and looked at her.

  “What now?”

  What now? Did they talk about it? End it? Vow that it wasn’t going to happen again? Agree that it would happen again but with no strings attached? Did he get the hell out of here before they muddied the waters even more than they already had?

  Or . . .

  He stared down at his mug and shrugged casually. “How crowded is that place around the corner on weekends? The one with the almond French toast.”

  He felt her studying him. “You want to go to brunch?”

  “We’ve got to eat, don’t we?” he asked, meeting her gaze.

  The moment was full of meaning. Sharing a meal was one thing. Sharing a meal after sex, especially morning sex, was a whole other thing. And they both knew it.

  He felt a sudden rush of embarrassed unease. Good God, what if she just wanted him to get out of her apartment so she could go about her weekend? What if . . .

  “Yeah,” Brit said, giving him a happy smile. “Brunch sounds great.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  On Sunday night, Brit sat cross-legged on Hunter’s couch with a carton of chicken chow mein in one hand, a glass of chardonnay in the other.

  Half her attention was on the football game, the other half of her attention on the man watching the football game.

  No, that was a lie. The split was like more 10–90.

  She barely liked football. But she really liked the man next to her.

  Hunter took a bite of egg roll, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Why are you staring at me?”

  “You watch me sleep,” she retorted, not bothering to deny it. “I think we’re even.”

  “Fair enough.” He turned toward her and held out the egg roll. “Bite?”

  She leaned forward and took a bite straight out of his hand. Something she wasn’t at all sure she would have done . . . before. Instead of looking creeped out by the familiarity of sharing food, Hunter popped the remainder of the egg roll into his mouth and turned back to the TV.

  Brit didn’t mind. Hunter had always been an avid football fan, and it pleased her that he still felt comfortable enough around her to embrace his beloved sport.

  It was the same reason she hadn’t thought about not going to her regular Sunday spin class, the same reason it hadn’t bothered her in the least when she’d come back to her apartment all sweaty and found him still there. And she really hadn’t minded a repeat of their shower from yesterday.

  He hadn’t seemed to mind when, after their matinee, she’d taken her regular Sunday phone call with her parents from his place, since it was close to the theater. He’d even taken the phone out of her hand to charm her mother, which ordinarily would have been sweet of him but, given the change in their relationship this weekend, had just about melted her heart.

  It was nice, she realized. Nice to be able to have sex with a man without any of the awkwardness. Even nicer to be able to skip to that point in the relationship where their respective lives sort of blended in a mix of togetherness, with each other’s interests and anomalies perfectly preserved.

  It was nice, and yet . . .

  Brit didn’t have a clue what happened next.

  Other than said spin class, they hadn’t spent much time apart since first sleeping together on Friday night. That in itself was different. They’d spent weekend time together before, but not all weekend.

  And they certainly hadn’t spent weekend time naked the way they had in the past few days.

  So far they were basically crushing it
on the friends-and-lovers front. But for how long?

  She didn’t know. And she definitely didn’t know how to ask. It would be a messy conversation if they were just friends who’d slept together.

  But they were also coworkers who’d slept together. Heck, they were a boss and subordinate.

  Monday morning suddenly loomed in her near future, awkward and terrifying.

  Brit took a deep breath and set her chow mein on the table, fully intending to finish her glass of wine and head home—alone—to gather her thoughts.

  Hunter surprised her by reaching for the remote and turning off the TV, even though it wasn’t a commercial.

  She looked at him. “Can’t handle watching your team lose?”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “They were up by twenty-one.”

  “Oh.”

  “Paying attention, were you?”

  “I’ve never claimed to love football.”

  “True.” He turned toward her more fully. “But you usually at least know when the Chiefs are up or down.”

  “Um, only because you usually grunt, Yeah, Chiefs, at least once every ten minutes, so I have some indication.”

  He laughed at her impression of a grunting man. “Is that what you think I sound like?”

  “That is what you sound like.” She took another sip of wine. “Did you ever consider switching allegiances?”

  “To what?”

  “Well, you’ve been in New York, what . . . ten years now? Most of your adult life. And yet you’re still solidly a Kansas City fan.”

  He rested a hand over his heart as though wounded. “A man’s dedication to his team doesn’t shift with his physical location, Robbins.”

  “I guess that’s smart,” she said. “Because then if you moved back, you’d have to switch again, and it would get messy.”

  “Exactly. Maybe if I intended to be in New York forever, I’d have considered shifting loyalties to the Jets. If nothing else so I could catch a live game of my team more than once a season. But . . .”

  “But you are going back,” she finished for him. “To Kansas City.”

  He picked up his wineglass from the table. “Someday. Yeah.”