Warm Rush, Book I: Chasing Winter

...As we left the Taylor house, Keith paused and said over his shoulder, “Mom, Dad, I’m going out tonight. Don’t wait up.”

What kind of teenager made announcements like that? I chanced a glance backward and saw his parents nod, almost nervously. There had been nothing menacing or disrespectful in his tone, but he did exude power and confidence. Given what Keith had told me last night, his parents’ reaction was understandable.

Having spent too much time thinking about this and not enough thinking about where I was going, it was also understandable when my foot snagged on something and I plummeted toward the concrete walkway.

Casually—almost absently—Keith’s free arm hooked around my body, lifted me up, and set me on my feet again. Without saying a word, he reached behind him and shut the front door.

I stood there, shaken by what had happened. Even more shaken that his parents had seen it.

His large hand caressed my hair, skimmed down the nape of my neck, and rested on my back. He didn’t push me forward. Instead, he applied a light, gentle pressure that was enough to get my feet shuffling across the street. Out of necessity, I moved slowly, which had to have frustrated his naturally long stride.

Wanting to break the silence during our long walk across the street, I asked, “You’re going out tonight? Anywhere special?”

“Yep.” He grinned down at me. “Your place.”

I climbed up onto the sidewalk in front of my house. “I don’t recall inviting you, Keith.”

He jumped in front of me, making me feel as if I were standing before a solid wall of muscle. “You said I could come over anytime.”

I frowned. “When?”

“When I was twelve,” he quipped, his laughter floating down to me.

All of a sudden, I was smiling. It was starting to feel familiar again.

Keith walked patiently with me as I made my way up my porch steps. I fished out my keys and opened the door. He breezed by me, as if this was his home, and went into my kitchen. I caught up with him just as he was sliding the food container into the fridge.

“Damn, you weren’t kidding about the food.” He shut the door, giving it a firm push to make sure it stayed shut. “I had to move around a lot of stuff to get ours in there.”

“That’s too bad. I’d been hoping to purchase some juice and milk, but I can’t if I have nowhere to put it.”

“No big deal. Just eat yourself room in your fridge.”

I imagine he hadn’t paid much attention to my plate this evening. Throwing the food out would be easier than eating it all. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Keith braced one hand on the island counter and one on the counter lining the wall, totally filling the space between. “Where would you like it tonight, Jesse?”

Every time he said my name, the effect was more sensual, more profound. Shouldn’t I be developing some sort of resistance to its power? “I-I don’t understand what you mean.”

He leaned forward, his hands still flat on the counters, showing off his rounded shoulders. “Couch again? Here in the kitchen? You like me enough to give that nice, big bed of yours a workout?”

That warm summer scent of his floated around us, caressed my senses. “I-I’m not sure—”

Keith released the counters and closed the distance between us, towering over me. “You can’t decide? Can I? You can probably tell I’m partial to the bed.”

“Keith.” I thought carefully about my words. At least, I tried. It didn’t work out very well. “We can’t.”

“All right.” He lowered his head and kissed my cheek. “Couch it is.”

Persistence must be a Taylor family trait. I found myself staring at his broad chest again, remembering how his skin felt beneath my fingers. I had to stop this before I fell too far, but—once again—my problem-solving skills failed me...