“You do?” My voice is breathy.
Hans eats my food.
And his hand is so warm over mine. And it’s so close to touching me there. Which I want him to do, but I’m glad he isn’t. Because I don’t want to walk through TSA with damp panties.
“Always.” His tone is so honest.
We start to slow, and I look out the windshield to see we’ve already arrived.
I watch his profile as he slows and pulls his truck to the curb in the departures lane.
“When I get back, I’ll bake you something.”
He puts the truck into park and looks at me. “I’d like that.”
Before I can say more, Hans shoves his door open and climbs out.
And just like that, all my earlier travel stress flares back to life. But rather than begging Hans to take me back home, I follow him out of the truck.
He’s already got my suitcase on the sidewalk next to him, and he’s holding my backpack out for me to put on like a jacket.
I slip one arm through the first strap, then the other, before turning back to face Hans again.
He moves his hands to my shoulders, adjusting the backpack.
“I get back Friday afternoon, but my dad is planning to pick me up.”
Hans nods, adjusting the straps again.
“Thank you for driving me this morning.” I wet my lips. “I really—”
Hans slips his fingers under the straps and yanks me forward, my chest bumping into his. “Be careful, Cassandra.”
“Wh-what?”
He pulls me tighter against him, even though we’re already touching. “Be fucking smart. Stay with your group. Don’t go anywhere alone.” He leans down, his face inches from mine. “Promise me, Butterfly.”
An overwhelming sense of comfort fills me, his concern acting as a balm for all my worries. “I promise, Grizzly Bear.”
He narrows his eyes. “Such a brat.”
Then his mouth is on mine. Claiming mine. Invading mine.
I grip his sides. His T-shirt warm from his body. His hard muscles flexing beneath the fabric.
He pulls back.
“Hans.” I can’t stop myself from pushing up on my tiptoes.
His hold on my straps shifts, and he’s helping me stretch up to reach him.
My tongue brushes over his lips, and he parts them.
This time it’s me. I’m the one claiming him. I’m the one wrapping my arms around his back. I’m the one tasting him.
A car horn honks farther down the lane, forcing us to break the kiss.
“I should go,” I whisper.
Hans uses his hold of me to set me back a step. “Remember your promise.”
He drops his hands from my shoulders and, after reaching for my suitcase, pulls out the telescoping handle for me.
I grip the handle tighter than necessary. “Bye, Hans.”
“Behave yourself, Girl.”
