“Just…stop. That’s all.” I try to hide the way he affects me, but it’s clear as day in the breathiness of my words. I dig deep for a shred of boldness. “There’s no reason for you to be looking, anyway. Even if my cousin wouldn’t kill you, there’s nothing here to drool over. I changed my mind about wanting anything to do with you. You’re too much bother. I haven’t even been shaving my legs.”
That eyebrow lifts further. “Is that so?”
He takes another step, and reflexively I take one back.
He’s so freaking large.
The counter bumps the small of my back, locking me in place. His hands come down to grip the edge of the counter on either side of my hips, caging me in without touching me directly.
“Yep,” I say. “Armpits, either. Or…you know.” The lie slips out before I can stop it, stupid and frantic. Maybe if I paint myself as unappealing enough, he’ll back off, give me space, let my poor fried nervous system reboot.
Give me some breathing room.
A smile plays at the corners of his lips, like he’s trying not to laugh. He leans in incrementally closer, his gaze drifting down my length.
God-Jesus,what the hell is he on about? What is this complete and utter reversal from the other day? He’s giving me fucking whiplash.
“I don’t believe you, Tallulah.”
My next words are a whisper. “I swear it. I’m hairy as fuck. It’s very gross.”
“Mm.” His gaze drops to my mouth, then returns to my eyes. “You know, Tallulah, I don’t think I care.”
His head tilts, and he leans down so close I can feel his body heat through my leggings and sweater. I can taste his breath on my lips—coffee and something darker—and it just makes me want more.
“What if I told you only little boys with tiny little pricks give a fuck about a woman embracing her natural beauty?” That tiny smile widens, becomes a bona fide grin with an edge of wickedness. “And I think you and I both know there isn’t a single thing about me that’s little.”
Heat punches low in my belly at the same time my brain yellsdanger, danger.
His hands leave the counter, move to my waist, big palms spanning my sides. He slides them down to my hips, thumbs pressing into the curve there like he’s claiming the terrain.
“Bran…” His name is barely a whisper on my lips, and his proximity has my brain so muddled I don’t even know what I’m asking him for.
Wait. Yes, I do.
“Bran, I can’t keep doing this,” I blurt. “This one-eighty bullshit. You kiss me, and then you pull back and give me the ‘oh we can’t, your cousin will kill me’ spiel. I just…I’m tired.”
The last word comes out smaller than I intended. It’s not just physical. It’s the emotional lash, the pushing and pulling and the way he keeps putting my worth on a scale with his fear of Kael and acting like I won’t notice.
“Mm.” The sound rumbles in his chest, reverberating through his hands on my hips. “I have been an asshole that way.”
His eyes soften in a way that is infinitely more dangerous than his grin. He lifts me onto the counter like I weigh nothing, managing it with one easy flex of his arms.
Compared to what he’s used to lifting, I probablydon’tweigh much. Still. My brain short-circuits at the casual display of strength.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the past few days,” he says.
I plant my palms against his chest, pushing at him more out of principle than actual desire to get away. “Is that a fact.”
“It is.”
“Wow. Break out the champagne,” I mutter.
His mouth twitches. “I’m thinking you might just be worth it.”
That shuts me up.
His voice drops, the smile fading as he steps closer, slotting himself between my dangling legs. He presses his forehead to mine, the contact intimate and steady in a way that makes my breath catch.
