The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman 2) - Page 41

I brushed past him, moseying down the hallway toward his bathroom. “Sure. Sure. That’s what he said.”

“He’s an idiot.”

I giggled. “Sometimes.”

Fisher peeled off his shirt and tossed it into the hamper. Then he sat on the vanity bench. I draped the towel over his legs and grabbed the trimmers. He spread his legs wide, unlike the previous time, and pulled me between them with his hands on the back of my thighs.

I laughed as the towel on his lap fell onto the floor. He didn’t care. I turned on the trimmers, and he buried his face in my chest.

“I’ve missed you,” he mumbled.

“It’s only been five days.” I ran my free hand through his hair.

“And nights.” He lifted his head. “Nights too. Don’t forget nights.”

“Because we’ve spent so many nights together?” I made my first swipe with the trimmers.

“You’re with me every night. In my dreams. You’re naked, except for my tool belt. You’re always wearing my tool belt.”

I laughed. “Sounds interesting. Am I building something?”

He frowned. “No. You’re always just teasing me.”

“Funny. In my dreams, you’re always a baby with an adult head, sucking a pacifier.”

“Not funny.” He tightened his grip on the back of my legs.

I jumped, holding the trimmer away from his face. “Careful.” I continued to trim his beard. “And it’s actually quite funny.”

He said nothing more while I finished, but I felt his eyes on me the whole time.

“Perfect. As usual.” I set the trimmers on the counter. “Well, my trim is perfect, considering what I had to work with.”

Fisher remained a little subdued, not as quick to jab back. In fact, he didn’t take the bait at all.

“I’ll grab the vac hose to sweep up the mess.”

“Leave it.” He pulled me closer to him again.

I smiled, running my palms along his face. “So handsome.”

He closed his eyes and took an audible breath, releasing it like it carried some pretty heavy stuff with it.

“Did you tell your therapist about me? I know it’s none of my business, but—”

“Yes.” He opened his eyes.

I nodded slowly, pressing my lips together.

“I told her I’m engaged to a woman I’ve known nearly my whole life. But I’m in love with a woman I’ve known for a breath, maybe two.”

Drawing in another one of those breaths of time, a shaky one, I blew it out with a whisper, “You love me?”

He shrugged. Of course he shrugged. It was Fisher. “I’m assuming that’s what this annoying feeling is.”

“Annoying feeling?” I narrowed my eyes.

“The increased heart rate I get just from thinking about you. Oh … and that. The constant thinking about you. The stupid smile that I can’t seem to wipe off my face because I’m thinking about you all the damn time.”

He seemed so annoyed. It made me grin, but I fought it by biting my lower lip.

“The dreams. The driving by your house just to see if your car is there. Lack of focus on anything or anyone but you. It’s …” He shook his head. “It’s bad.” His gaze met mine. “What about you? Do you have any feelings toward me? Or do you just want into my pants? Be honest … am I the girl in this relationship?”

“Fisher …” I whispered. His humor didn’t completely mask his nerves. How did two people fall in love so quickly? Then how did they do it twice? Just as quickly, just as passionately? And with terrible timing again? I pressed my lips to his.

We kissed.

Fisher loved me. Me …

So we continued to kiss because that’s what people who loved each other did.

He unbuttoned my jeans and eased down the zipper. Then he kissed my exposed skin just above my panties.

My fingers laced through his thick hair. “I love you, my lost fisherman.”

He stilled for a second before his gaze lifted to mine. Those blue eyes. That heartbreakingly lost look in his eyes.

“This is so messy.” I gave him a cautious smile.

“That’s how we know it’s real.” He slowly stood, taking my shirt with him.

I lifted my arms, willingly surrendering.

He dropped my shirt onto the floor and kissed me again, easing my bra straps down my shoulders as I reached around and unhooked it.

Maybe our future was uncertain, at best. But not his touch. I knew … I just knew he didn’t touch her like he touched me.

The slide of his warm tongue.

The brush of his thumb over my nipple.

And the hum, almost a tiny growl, like he was a little angry that everything had to be so damn complicated.

That slow kiss took us all the way to the bed. I wasn’t the nervous girl anymore. And knowing he wasn’t getting my virginity didn’t make it feel any less special.

I wasn’t a used sanitary napkin.

I was the woman who put myself first, who loved myself first. I was the girl who left the love of her life to find a life.

Tags: Jewel E. Ann Fisherman Romance
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