“Where are we going?” I ask the instant I open my front door for Ezra, stepping outside and ready to head out.
He cocks an amused eyebrow at me. “Well, hello to you, too,” he retorts as sarcasm drips from his words.
I roll my eyes at him. “Hello. Now, where are we going?” I repeat, pivoting to shut the door behind me as I try my hardest to calm down my palpitating heart and labored breathing. We haven’t taken a step out, and he has already taken my breath away.
He does that sometimes. And I don’t think he even registers the devastating and walking life hazard he is to women and men around him.
I throw curses at him too slowly for him to hear as I violently fight to lock the door with my key.
How dare he?
He has no goddamn right to lookthis fucking mouth-watering in merely a black tee and gray shorts. Isn’t he aware that gray sweatpants are basically kryptonite for the other half of the population?
And what is he even doing wearing something like this in this cold and windy season? Doesn’t he feel the chill run over him? I do, even though I’m wrapped in a hoodie and a pair of leggings.
Then suddenly, I feel his hot breath fanning the back of my neck, his mouth grazing my ponytail as he speaks over my shoulder. “Everything all right over there?”
Have I finally lost it and am imagining the huskiness of his voice, or is it really present? Nonetheless, a shiver rolls down my back, and I know he feels it too, standing so close to me.
As he makes no move to take a step back, his warmth encapsulating me, I remember he asked me a question. I clear my throat and offer a weak nod. “Mhmm. Super!” And it’s as if the lock and key understand my predicament; the resounding click of the door locking rings ever so silently.
Not calculating the distance between our bodies, I naively swivel around to face him, finding my face thrust into his. I stumble back onthe door, rising on my toes. “Oh…you’re close,” I note in a whisper as if it isn’t already obvious.
He stares at me with his hands in his pockets as the seams of his sleeves hang on to his biceps for dear life.
God, his muscles are great.
Realizing he hasn’t spoken, my eyes flit over to him and find a knowing smirk plastered on his face. My eyes narrow at him even though my face turns the shade of beets.
Then, surprising me with a wink, he turns on his heels and swaggers down a couple of steps as a cocky laugh falls from his lips.
“God, you’re infuriating!” I yell at his back as I stomp down behind him, dropping the keys in my bag and hiking it on my shoulders.
And when he continues to laugh, standing with the passenger door of his black SUV open for me, I punch his arm, though I doubt he even feels it, but with the wince I let take over my face, I’m sure that he sees thatIfeel it.
Still laughing at my failed attempt to knock him out, he grabs my hand and caresses my knuckles with the rough pad of his thumb. And just when I think he’ll drop it, he raises it to press the softest kiss known to humankind, causing mybreath to hitch. Again.
Mirth dances in his eyes as his lips linger on my knuckles, and his blue eyes linger on my face.
I narrow my eyes at him, not letting him see the effect he has on me, or at least hoping he doesn’t. When he drops my hand, I instantly pull it to my chest and slide inside the car with a huff, even though my lips tilt upwards inside the safety of it.
Shaking his head at me with a smug grin, he rounds the car with a swagger only he possesses and knows it, and swiftly settles in the driver’s seat.
God, why is he hell-bent on killing me so young?
Twenty Five
Kaeli
Iknew getting in a car with Ezra Moore was a potential safety and sanity risk. Yet, I did exactly that against my better judgment.
“Put on your seat belt,” he instructs when he finds me without one. I was so lost in that little contact between his lips and my hand that I forgot about it.
I attempt to pull at the strap, but it appears to be stuck, because, of course, it is. “It’s stuck,” I involuntarily voice, gritting my teeth and putting in so much of my strength into pulling itas if that would produce a desirable result.
Then suddenly, the air around me gets sucked, leaving me to inhale the only alternative—Ezra’s unique scent straight from his corded, veiny, very biteable neck. I do so very greedily, hoping he doesn’t notice and think of me as a creep.
My eyes widen, and my hands suspend in the air at the development. He leans over me and pulls at the strap, and, of course, without facing any issues. When he turns to me to cock his eyebrow at my vain effort, he realizes his proximity to my face.
