Heat explodes under my skin.
“Darren.”
“Yeah?”
“Stop flirting.”
“No,” he says easily.
I groan and shove his shoulder.
He steals my breath by catching my wrist for a split second, demonstration-reflex, and then letting go like it burned him.“Lesson two tomorrow,” he murmurs.
I nod and turn toward the house, trying not to sway my hips too much because I am not the type of woman men get stupid over.
Except he already is.Or that’s the way it seems at least.And somehow, that scares me less than the idea of him stopping.
Chapter Six
Kisses That Taste Like Trouble
Darren
There’s a special kind of torture reserved for men who make promises to go slow ...and then have to keep them.Like watching Olivia walk back toward the house, hips swaying unconsciously in those soft leggings, sunlight catching in her hair while my body stages a full-scale riot.
Patience, asshole.I said it.I meant it.I need to keep my damn word.I can’t be like every other asshole before that took and hurt.I need to be different.
I pick up the pads and gloves and busy my hands with cleaning up the backyard, pretending I’m not tracking every sound she makes inside.Pipes running.Bathroom door shutting.The low hum of Aunt Dee’s voice somewhere down the hall.
Then the shower starts.Hot water on bare skin is all my brain supplies and I drop a pad.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my face like that will erase the image of Olivia naked, steam curling around her curves, head tipped back, mouth parted...
Nope.Not helping.I go inside before I embarrass myself in full view of the tomato plants.
The living room is quiet.The kids are out with other neighbor kids.Aunt Dee is on the phone in the kitchen talking in that hushed-but-not-really hush older women use when gossiping about people you’re going to see in church.She gives me a look that says both “break her heart and die” and “I like this one” at the same time.
