But looking at him right now, at the raw honesty in his expression, at the way he's looking at me like I'm something precious and terrifying all at once...
None of that matters. Nothing matters except him.
I force my feet to move, closing the distance between us until I'm standing close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. My voice trembles when I finally manage to speak.
"Do you... do you really mean it?"
"Yes." No hesitation. "I should have told you already. I thought I could deal with it, thought I could just push it down and focus on work, but it's getting harder every day. Every time you walk into this kitchen, every time you smile at me, every time you challenge me or create something beautiful..." He takes a shaky breath. "If you don't feel the same way, I'll respect that. And I promise it won't affect your job. You're too talented to lose because I can't keep my feelings in check."
My hand moves to my chest, pressing against my racing heart. "I do," I whisper. "I like you too. God, I'm so glad you told me because I would never have been able to confess."
"Really?"
"Really." A breathless laugh escapes me. "I've been losing my mind trying not to notice how attractive you are, trying to focus on work when all I can think about is—"
"For someone so confident in the kitchen," he says, his mouth quirking slightly, "you really aren't confident in the rest of your life, are you?"
Heat floods my face. "Shut up."
"With pleasure," he murmurs, and then he's moving toward me.
The whole world slows down.
I watch him close his eyes, watch his handsome face lean forward, and my own eyes flutter shut. But my body won't move. I'm frozen, paralyzed by the magnitude of this moment, by the reality of Levi Harper about to kiss me.
His lips press against mine, soft and warm and perfect, and suddenly I can move again. My hand comes up to cup his bearded cheek, fingers sliding into the rough texture, and he makes this low sound in his throat that sends heat straight through my core. He leans into my touch without ever stopping the kiss, and I melt against him.
This is happening. This is really happening.
His mouth moves against mine with a confidence that makes my knees weak, and I kiss him back with everything I have. Two weeks of desire, of dreaming, of lying awake at night thinking about what this would feel like, and it's better than anything I imagined.
His beard scratches against my skin in a way that makes me think about how it would feel elsewhere. Against my neck. My breasts. Between my thighs.
God, I want that. Want to feel that rough texture against the softest parts of me, want to know what his mouth would feel like on my pussy, want to feel his cock inside me, thick and hard and claiming me completely.
But I have no idea if he wants to take things slower. If this kiss is as far as we're going tonight. If confessing was enough and the rest will wait. We finally break apart, both of us breathing hard, and he rests his forehead against mine.
"You good?" His voice is rougher than before, strained.
"Better than good," I manage, my chest heaving.
His eyes are dark when they meet mine, pupils blown wide with want. "I don't want to stop," he says, his hands coming up to frame my face. "I've been dreaming about this moment for weeks. I want to kiss every inch of your beautiful body."
Beautiful. He called my body beautiful.
No man has ever said that to me. Ever. I've gotten "cute" and "sweet" and occasionally "pretty," but never beautiful. Never said with that raw hunger in his voice like he means it, like he can't wait to prove it.
How could I ever resist that?
"Then do it," I breathe. "Kiss whatever you want, however you want."
His smile is pure sin. "We should probably take these clothes off you first."
He reaches for the hem of my shirt and I raise my arms, letting him pull it up and over my head. The fabric catches on my braid for a second before coming free, and then I'm standing there in just my bra and pants, my breasts rising and falling with each quick breath.
Levi's eyes drop to my chest and he goes completely still.
I fight the urge to cover myself, to make some self-deprecating comment about being overweight, about how I'm not what he probably expected. But the look on his face stops me.