operate in a non-work, non-gym situation. But he’d leaned closer, and the tulips were smushed against his chest, and it didn’t stop him.
He moved even closer. And Miguel wasn’t super tall but Janice was short and Miguel had shoulders that could take on the weight of the world and Janice could bench her own weight but Miguel was pulling her forward, hands on her waist, like she had no strength at all, and her arms were still up, elbows tucked in, so before she knew it Janice’s forearms rested on his pecs, flowers smushed between them, and Miguel kept her there, tight against him, and his crooked smile straightened out and it wasn’t two seconds later than he was kissing her cheek, soft but not short.
She didn’t mean to sink against him. Normally she had more control of her body than that.
He kissed her other cheek. Very courtly.
Very sensual.
And then Janice sneezed.
Her head ricocheted off his clavicle, she dropped the damn tulips, and then she stepped on them when she stumbled back out of Miguel’s hold. Or almost out of his hold, since he caught her right when she was slipping on the waxy petals and about to plant her tailbone on his hardwoods.
“Thanks,” she gasped.
And then he kissed her again. He didn’t telegraph it all, didn’t give her a moment to prepare. Just moved, and was kissing her. She was grinding flower petals into his floor and one hand was pressed between them, twisted backwards so she was practically groping her own meager breast, and one of his hands circled her bicep, and the other… The other! Miguel’s other arm was a vise around her waist and the hand was anchoring her pelvis so Janice’s entire body was wedged against his. It should have been uncomfortable, being literally off-balance and with her limbs turned every which way like she’d lost all semblance of control over them. Which maybe she had. But it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Which sure as shit made Janice uncomfortable.
Miguel’s solidity made her uncomfortable. The ease with which he was suddenly putting his hands just wherever the ever-loving hell he wanted to, after they worked side by side for half a decade, practically never touching, made her uncomfortable. The clean soap and musk cologne scent of him made her uncomfortable.
His handsome face that was like coming home, familiar and welcoming. His elegant, eloquent eyebrows. His full lips, smooth and firm, and not in the least tentative against hers. It all made her uncomfortable.
So totally uncomfortable.
Janice’s nerves were squirming up and down her body like freshly hatched tadpoles. It wasn’t right, this feeling so right when she was fighting off another sneeze and her hand was cramping up against her aching breast and her pelvis was hosting a congregation of little tadpoles. They were squirming like mad down there.
And Miguel stopped kissing her, and then Janice was really, really uncomfortable.
Carefully, this time, she backed up a step, leaving the flowers and their pollen in an allergenic mess on the floor. It was kinda pretty, actually, the green and yellow and orange all mixed together. Gave a touch of color to the otherwise brown and white and beige space. She should throw flowers at his feet more often.
“Hey,” Miguel said. “Welcome.”
Seemed like he’d said that already. Before the tulips made her sneeze and somehow that made him kiss her and somehow that likened her insides to a bayou in early spring.
“Hey yourself,” Janice answered in a voice that borrowed a little from the tiny frogs developing hoppity legs throughout her system.
“Gracias por las flores.”
“Very funny.”
“No, they’re very nice. I like the color.”
“Yes, I can see how important color is to you.” Janice meant to sound a touch snarkier, but she was distracted by noticing that they’d sidestepped the floral mess and were up against each other again.
“You don’t like my decor?” He took her hand, and Janice looked at it, at the two of
He moved even closer. And Miguel wasn’t super tall but Janice was short and Miguel had shoulders that could take on the weight of the world and Janice could bench her own weight but Miguel was pulling her forward, hands on her waist, like she had no strength at all, and her arms were still up, elbows tucked in, so before she knew it Janice’s forearms rested on his pecs, flowers smushed between them, and Miguel kept her there, tight against him, and his crooked smile straightened out and it wasn’t two seconds later than he was kissing her cheek, soft but not short.
She didn’t mean to sink against him. Normally she had more control of her body than that.
He kissed her other cheek. Very courtly.
Very sensual.
And then Janice sneezed.
Her head ricocheted off his clavicle, she dropped the damn tulips, and then she stepped on them when she stumbled back out of Miguel’s hold. Or almost out of his hold, since he caught her right when she was slipping on the waxy petals and about to plant her tailbone on his hardwoods.
“Thanks,” she gasped.
And then he kissed her again. He didn’t telegraph it all, didn’t give her a moment to prepare. Just moved, and was kissing her. She was grinding flower petals into his floor and one hand was pressed between them, twisted backwards so she was practically groping her own meager breast, and one of his hands circled her bicep, and the other… The other! Miguel’s other arm was a vise around her waist and the hand was anchoring her pelvis so Janice’s entire body was wedged against his. It should have been uncomfortable, being literally off-balance and with her limbs turned every which way like she’d lost all semblance of control over them. Which maybe she had. But it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Which sure as shit made Janice uncomfortable.
Miguel’s solidity made her uncomfortable. The ease with which he was suddenly putting his hands just wherever the ever-loving hell he wanted to, after they worked side by side for half a decade, practically never touching, made her uncomfortable. The clean soap and musk cologne scent of him made her uncomfortable.
His handsome face that was like coming home, familiar and welcoming. His elegant, eloquent eyebrows. His full lips, smooth and firm, and not in the least tentative against hers. It all made her uncomfortable.
So totally uncomfortable.
Janice’s nerves were squirming up and down her body like freshly hatched tadpoles. It wasn’t right, this feeling so right when she was fighting off another sneeze and her hand was cramping up against her aching breast and her pelvis was hosting a congregation of little tadpoles. They were squirming like mad down there.
And Miguel stopped kissing her, and then Janice was really, really uncomfortable.
Carefully, this time, she backed up a step, leaving the flowers and their pollen in an allergenic mess on the floor. It was kinda pretty, actually, the green and yellow and orange all mixed together. Gave a touch of color to the otherwise brown and white and beige space. She should throw flowers at his feet more often.
“Hey,” Miguel said. “Welcome.”
Seemed like he’d said that already. Before the tulips made her sneeze and somehow that made him kiss her and somehow that likened her insides to a bayou in early spring.
“Hey yourself,” Janice answered in a voice that borrowed a little from the tiny frogs developing hoppity legs throughout her system.
“Gracias por las flores.”
“Very funny.”
“No, they’re very nice. I like the color.”
“Yes, I can see how important color is to you.” Janice meant to sound a touch snarkier, but she was distracted by noticing that they’d sidestepped the floral mess and were up against each other again.
“You don’t like my decor?” He took her hand, and Janice looked at it, at the two of
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