“Well.” He stops outside an unmarked door. “It’s only fitting that Cinderella gets the best view of the ball.” He pushes open the door to reveal another flight of stairs. “How are you with heights?”
“Not afraid of them, if that’s what you’re asking.” I look up at the steep flight and then down at my shoes and my pinched toes.
TJ tracks my gaze. “But your feet are killing you, aren’t they?”
Perceptive. That’s a trait I definitely want my main male character to have in my next book.
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I admit. “But I really want to see the view, so I can power through.”
He sniffs. “Not on my watch. You won’t be able to enjoy it if you get there and your feet are blistered. Here.” He turns around and gestures to his shoulders. “I’ll piggyback you.”
I burst into laughter. “You will not.”
“Why? It’s a perfect solution.”
“There’s no way I can climb on your back in my dress.”
He frowns, humming to himself. “You’re right about that. It’s very bottom-heavy.”
“Just what every woman wants to hear.”
His eyes bug beneath his mask. “You know I didn’t mean … I meant … Your bottom is great, no matter how it looks. Not that I’m looking. Not that I can reallyseeit at all, given the dress, which is what you were saying in the first place, and—” He presses his lips together. “I’m going to shut up now.”
I can’t help laughing. I add nervous rambling to my list of character traits.
“You sure you don’t want to say anything else about my figure while you’re at it?” I pop a hip.
TJ swallows. I hold out my hands, palms up, and do a slight turn. His eyes scan my masked face in micromovements, like he wants to see every inch, before he dips his gaze to trace the curve of my waist. He glances down at my toes and then casually brings his eyes backto meet mine.
The joke is definitely on me here, and this stairwell just became hotter than a stone-fire grill. I’m melting under his observation.
“I’ll keep my comments to myself for now.” There’s a rasp in his throat that wasn’t there before.
I need a thousand fans to combat the heat in my cheeks.
“I have a solution to our problem.” He steps toward me. “Can I touch you here?” He motions to my back. “And here?” He points to my knees … or at least, where my knees are beneath my dress.
I catch on to his plan pretty quickly. “You’re going to carry me bridal style?”
“Is that what it’s called?”
“Yes.”
“Is that alright with you? The view’s pretty great.”
“I guess, but I don’t—”
He scoops me up in one fluid motion, and suddenly I’m up close and personal with the muscles I’ve taken note of from afar. A pretty great view, indeed.
“—want to hurt you,” I finish on a breath.
“Pfft.” He brushes off my concern with an exhale, and I feel the warmth of it on my cheek. His breath smells like peppermint, and there’s a pleasant aroma of pine that surrounds him. My senses are in overdrive, and I don’t hate it. I try to catalog everything. My skin seems to vibrate where he’s touching me, and my stomach could be classified as a carbonated beverage right now. But beyond these physical sensations, I feel cared for and ladylike. I’m all for a strong female protagonist, but there’s no rule that says you can’t be strong and have a strong desire to be held. At least, not in my book. Mybooks.
“You good?” TJ asks, and I feel the vibration of his chest.
“Yep,” I squeak. I clear my throat and give myself a little pep talk as TJ starts climbing the stairs.
Pull yourself together, Lu. This is for research purposes. Put yourself in character. What would your FMC do? More importantly, what would fun, unrestrained Lu do?
