All The Letters I'll Never Send You: An Enemies-to-Lovers Duet (Handwritten & Heartbroken Duet Book 1) by Ace Gray

Author:Ace Gray [Gray, Ace]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: Book One
Publisher: Ace Gray
Published: 2020-01-20T16:00:00+00:00

“I do believe you’re happy James Larrabee,” I say as we walk down the sidewalk after approximately two dozen oysters, two large bottles of beer, and at least two hours of the best conversation I’ve had in, well, years.

“Don’t tell anyone.” He tips his chin, trying to hide a shy smile away. “Are you?”

“Yeah. I think so.” I try not to let shock and awe at the fact slip in there. I mean, I was always happy if he was after all.

His knuckles brush the back of my hand, but he doesn’t reach for it. I want to, but the almost, the hairsbreadth away, is where we’ve always been. There’s an ease to the smallest distance between us.

A thrill too.

“I’ve had quite a few decent nights on the streets of Pyramid Peak.” James keeps an easy pace beside me as we meander toward my house.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His eyes flit to my lips then away. He doesn’t mention the kiss out loud, but he doesn’t have to. No one ever has to. It plays on a loop and plays with my senses constantly.

His hand grazes mine again and despite the warm summer night, I shiver. He stops, and as if I’m tethered to him, I do too. His fingers still don’t find mine, instead they run the length of my spine, tracing the tracks of what he does to me. I close my eyes. When his hand cups my butt, I gasp. The soft part of my lips grazes the plump of his.

That touch, the singular graze of skin, is the most erotic thing that has ever happened to me. Years of my aching want being toyed with. Teased. When he kissed me the other day, I wouldn’t let myself feel. Not really. But now… I feel everything. Particularly the wild crash that comes from the build-up not the payoff.

“Good Christ,” I whisper, and his deep dark chuckle is somehow even more incinerating than it was before. When I open my eyes, his smile is too. There’s mischief to it, to him, that is almost never there.

This version of James Larrabee will be what kills me, and right now, I don’t mind in the least.

I don’t realize I’m trembling until I reach for his chest to steady myself. He keeps one hand on my back but the other comes to the shaking leaf against his chest. His big hands—long fingers—blanket my hand and hold it tight.

Another move that catches my breath.

“Mina, can I kiss you?” he asks, his words dark but breathless.

“You already have,” I barely manage.

“Then can I keep you?”

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