My lungs are working hard as I shove my legs into them, making sure I DO NOT show him an inch more skin than he’s already seen.
Course that would be hard given that he saw me in my bra and thong.
Lord above.I can’t believe I didn’t cover up before going to the door. That was such a dumb move.
“Get lost,” I growl, pushing past him to grab his bag so I can shove it into his hands before he thinks of some other excuse to be in my room.
When I turn around, holding his duffel in my arms, he’s got his elbow on the door frame and his eyes locked on me.
God he’s big.
Do not look down, River.
Don’t do it.
But my eyes betray me and I catch sight of what CANNOT be a cock in his pants.
He shifts, adjusting the thing with his hand and my mouth drops open.
“I… I appreciate that shotgun you’re packing, but I’m not in the market. You’re a threat to me, Diesel. You’ve got a neon warning sign that flashescolossal train wreck impending.I won’t be hurt by a man like you. I’m not interested in whatever it is you’re trying to push on me.”
He frowns. No, not really a frown. What is that expression?
For a beat, I thought I saw pain.
But he shakes his head and the calm is back.
“I read you wrong. Got it in my head that you liked whatyou saw, and even though you loathed the situation, you wanted what I could offer you physically.”
“Oh, I do want the physical part. But I can’t deal with the rest of you.”
I cover my betraying mouth.
Oh, flaming armadillos.
Did I just say that out loud?
The quiet that follows isn’t just awkward, it’s riddled with landmines.
He reaches for me, stroking his thumb over my cheek, sliding along my jaw and I’m completely and utterly weak in the knees. .
One touch. I turn to honey.
The situation gets even worse when Diesel starts to speak in the hottest, darkest, most sultry tone I’ve ever heard.
“You’re under my protection. I’m going to tell you what to do. I’m going to piss you off. You can hate me ’til the end of time, but I’m going to do what it takes to keep you safe.”
Oof.
Gut shot.
For a few seconds, I just look at him and tremble. Until the ripping sensation behind my sternum becomes unbearable. I can’t look him in the face any longer, so I stare at the hollow at the base of his throat.
Do I hate him?
Yes. Maybe.
No.
