Stunned, I throw a look at Gabe, who lifts his brow at me before he crosses the threshold into the lobby.
After a frozen moment, I step inside and shrug off my coat, hanging it on the hook beside the door as I try to gather myself.
I am in so much trouble here, even though nothing is happening.
Nothing has happened, but a threshold is looming not far on the horizon for me.
Who’s going to tip me over it first?
I shake my head at myself. I shouldn’t be entertaining the possibilities of having anyone. Not with the betrayal and heartbreak still so fresh for me.
In mid-spin to face Adam, my mouth falls open in a yawn that I barely cover, and the mischief in his eyes pins me in place. “Have a long night?”
Strapping on the only armor I’ve ever felt comfortable in, I shrug. “Not particularly.”
His gaze narrows on me, a challenge and a tease layered with unspoken awareness.
It cranks at my insides, everything going taut. It’s so easy for him to tug on it.
Adam leans back in my chair, bringing his hands behind his head to accentuate the size of his arms and chest. God, he’s so big.
It should be overwhelmingly intimidating, but I simply want to run my hands over all that muscle.
We stay in this stalemate for a few minutes, me looking over him, and him staring back at me—a smug smile stuck to the curve of his mouth.
Until another yawn takes me over.
Adam drops his arms, standing slowly. “Don’t let them tire you out.”
The probing meaning isn’t lost on me. “I fell asleep on their couch.”
He gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me. That it doesn’t sound as innocent as it is.
“I’ve spent most of my life on that couch.” See, completely innocent, even though I’m starting to second guess that fundamental truth.
“I thought you didn’t have a lot of experience knowing when men are attracted to you?” He rounds my desk, slow like he’s stalking me, hunting me.
My breath comes a little faster as he gets closer, and I back into my desk, truly trapped prey, no fight, no flight, just rooted in place—ensnared by the shifting emotions in his eyes.
“Yeah. I’m usually pretty clueless.”
He erases the rest of the space between us, setting his hands on the desk on either side of my hips.
And it’s hard not to look at his lips, soft and pink against the dark shadow of his skin where he’s shaved this morning.
“When a man’s interested, there are signs.” Adam’s voice has gone low and husky. His mouth is a pleasure to look at when he speaks. I want to sink my teeth into him, but I’ve never been forward enough to do something even remotely violent.
Instead, I pull in a slow breath, hoping it will settle my pulse.
And my thoughts.
Both need a good sedative.
“Like what?” I barely have a voice, and the air between us is nearly solid from the tension cranking up.
Is that me or him?
Or is it because neither of us can help ourselves?
