“You really should have let me help. This feels wrong.” I push open the door to my townhouse with my foot, going into the kitchen to set down the two bags I’m carrying.
“Get over it.” Alec is right behind me, the door slamming closed, and deposits the several remaining bags on the sparse countertop space available. “We needed what we needed. It’s not a big deal.”
“Itisa big deal. You paid for new clothes for me. What’s that about?”
Shrugging, Alec takes said bag of clothes and walks through the living room toward my bedroom. When he comes back, he’s empty-handed, so I have to assume he put it on my bed.
There’s something tingly and weird about knowing the guy was in my bedroom. But it’s not my fault. Alec is this imposing, impossibly gorgeous guy who’s just sauntering around my apartment, and I can’t stop staring at him every chance I get.
All of this is wildly confusing, and I hate how attracted to Alec I am. I don’t trust people. I know I have issues, and that distrust is merited because of them.
Alec? He’s tactless and pushy, and one of the most sincere people I’ve ever met. I don’t think he’d lie even if he could. It’s kind of… refreshing.
I start to unload groceries from the bags. Boxes of mac’n’cheese and bowtie pasta. Always a good go-to meal when you need something cheap and fast and filling.
Unfortunately, I store pasta on the top shelf of the cupboard, and I have to reach up on my tiptoes to put it away. Usually, it’s not a concern, but I feel weird doing all this in front of Alec, my shirt riding up and everything.
The box wobbles in my grip. I’m about to drop it on my head when I feel him.
Heat at my back. The solid wall of his chest, not quite touching me, but close. So close.
Alec’s hand comes up, steadying the box in my grip. His fingers brush mine as he helps me slide it into place on the shelf.
Neither of us moves.
I can feel his breath on my neck. Slow. Warm. Each exhale ghosts across my skin, raising goosebumps in its wake.
The kitchen is so quiet. Just the hum of the refrigerator. The distant sound of traffic outside. And my heartbeat, thundering so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
“If you can barely reach up here…” His voice is a gruff rumble, right against my ear. I feel it more than hear it. “…why do you put things on this shelf?”
I should step away. I should turn around. I should dosomethingother than stand here, frozen, my body screaming for him to close that last inch of distance between us.
“I…” Jesus, I sound ridiculous. Breathy. Desperate. “…there’s a footstool in the closet… I, um, usually…”
I trail off because Alec’s hand is moving. Slowly. So slowly. Down from the shelf. Along the cabinet. Until his fingertips graze my arm.
The touch is barely there. A whisper. A promise.
I shiver.
Claire. You’re getting mighty close to him. Claire!
“Do you go to school to paint?”
The question throws me. But Alec isn’t letting me turn around. His body cages me against the counter, and I can feel the hard length of him pressed against my lower back now.
If I’m not mistaken, that thing ishuge.
All I can do is nod.
Alec hums in my ear. The sound vibrates through me, settling low in my belly. His nose brushes over my skin as he lowers his face into the crook of my neck. Breathing me in.
“Did you paint the ones in here?”
Again, I just nod. I’m trembling now, every nerve ending on fire.
His fingers find the hem of my scoop-neck tee where it’s ridden up. They pause there. Waiting.
