His sexy chuckle echoes. “Is that why you think I’m watching you?”
I stare at him, my heart pounding a hundred beats a second.
With the damp paper towel still in my grip, I push off from the sink and walk toward the door, careful not to touch him with my hand resting on the handle.
His jaw is tight as he peers down at me.
Even with my heels, he’s still taller than me.
“It better be the reason.” My whisper slices through the tension.
He nods slowly, his temples flickering with every bob of his head.
I pull on the door handle, thinking he’ll move out of the way, but he doesn’t.
I stop breathing when his arm winds around the front of my body.
“And what if it isn’t, Tess?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
ROME
My heart punchesthe inside of my ribs with my arm around her waist. Hints of her floral perfume swirl around me when she pauses instead of pushing me away.
I don’t know what it is about her that I can’t seem to resist. At first, I thought it was the urge to make her angry, to irritate her until she was seething in my direction, because it was entertaining. But now I wonder if I was poking at her because Ilikedher looking in my direction.
It wasn’t until she calmed me during the race that something shifted…and then came the kiss.
Now I'm hungry for it.
“Rome.”
My name sounds like a beg, but I’m pretty certain she meant for it to come out as a warning.
“We can’t do this,” she says quietly, staring at the door instead of me.
And yet, she hasn’t pulled on the door handle.
“I’m just here to help you clean up from your sloppy date spilling tequila all over you.”
I make a deal with myself mentally.
If she pulls on the door handle for the second time, I’ll let her go. But if she doesn’t, it’s game over.
It could be good to get this out of our systems. Maybe loosen the pull between us.
Or make it tighter.
With my one arm still wrapped around her stomach, I take the other from my pocket and reach for the towel in her hand. Her fingers tighten around the handle, but still, she doesn’t open the door.
“Let me help you.” I mean for it to come out as a question, but instead, it’s a demand.
Tessa lets go of the towel, and I take it while slowly pushing her back to the vanity. I stare at the way her ribs expand with each quick breath through the mirror, and instead of cursing the open back of her dress again, now I’m praising it.
I turn the water on to wet the towel again. The squeak of the nozzle makes Tessa jump against the hard porcelain.
“Relax, Princess,” I whisper into her ear. “I’m just going to wipe the tequila from your legs.”
