He raises a corner of his mouth. “Everything.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Everything?”
I’m about to argue, but he leans forward slightly, an almost distracted movement, only the T-shirt stretches across his chest, and for a second, I forget what I was doing.
No, no, no.Stay professional, Sloane.
“Kissing is the start of chemistry. You can’t have a relationship without chemistry. Can you imagine being in a relationship where you don't like how your partner kisses?”
This is officially the longest answer I’ve ever gotten from him.
Except that… it brings me back to the way he kisses.
Fire. Damn sexy. Impossible to forget.
I just write, biting the inside of my cheek not to react.Extremely physical, confident kisser, tends to flirt as a defense mechanism / but kissing needs improvement.
Okay, I added the last part just to convince myself and stop thinking about it.
The sound of the pen on the screen is the only sound in the room for a couple of seconds.
Then he leans forward, his elbow resting on his knee, his gaze narrowing into a curious slit.
“What did you write?”
What? Why does he care what I wrote? He hasn’t cared until now…
“A professional note.” I almost stutter,damn it.
The chair creaks as he stands up.
I clutch the tablet to my chest, already anticipating trouble.
He stands in front of me with exasperating calmness.
My heart races, I don't want to move, but I subtly back up. Except that… I can’t back up any further. My butt hits the desk.
He’s in front of me, tall, hot, too close.
Those eyes pierce me as if there were no space or air or logic between us anymore.
And actually, I don’t think there is space, or air.
“Did you write that my kissing needs improvement?” His voice drops, husky.
“I-It wasn’t a judgment. It was an empirical observation.” My heart races. “Usually, clients with these attitudes have shortcomings. Nothing that can’t be improved.” Yes, I’m rambling. I do that when I’m nervous.
And right now, I am VERY nervous.
I breathe slowly, looking for an escape route, but my brain has decided to take a vacation.
“Delete that sentence,” he says softly.
“No.”
“Sloane…”
He raises his hand, and I’m sure he’s about to take the tablet from my hands.
