Not that it would help much, with him being six four and incredibly good looking.
My warm, happy feeling is dulled by this thought. Am I always going to have to worry when he comes over here? Should we limit our dates to his apartment, where I can slip in and out much easier than he can? Do I have to worry about him showingup on social media by doing this? What could he say? That he happens to have a different friend in the building?
Or do we dare say we’re friends and hanging out?
No. I can’t do that. Dad would be all over that in a second, followed by my brothers, who would tell me to stay away from Aiden.
I feel more than dulled. I feel sick.
I fold my arms across my chest, my brain trying to sort this out. We are really going to have to plan for all scenarios. Or ways to be more careful.
Never would I have thought a man would be worth this kind of stress.
Or deceit.
Shame fills me when I think about what I’m doing. This is so against how I’m coded. I can’t believe I’m putting secret names into my phone for someone I want to date. That I’m dating a man my parents would completely disapprove of, and it’s a relationship that would infuriate my entire family.
And I’m definitely going to hurt Aiden’s career.
Yet I don’t question it.
Not after the way he kissed me last night.
There’s a knock at the door, and I eagerly go check through the peephole.
It. Is. Aiden.
And damn it, he looks freaking hot through apeephole.
I unlock the door and pull it open. Aiden has on the baseball cap, pulled down low. A black T-shirt stretches across his large, muscular frame. I allow my gaze to go lower, down past his waist to the massive, jean-clad thighs that are built from skating.
I lift my eyes to meet his.
And I see nothing but heat in them.
“Hi,” I manage to say. “Come on in.”
Aiden doesn’t say anything at first. Nor does he move. All he can do is stare at me with a look that tells me he wants to greet me in a completely different way this evening.
With his lips.
“Scarlett,” he says, his voice low. “You look freaking hot.”
Excitement races through me as he steps inside, shutting the door behind him. Aiden takes off his hat, and when he sees no place to immediately put it, he smirks and tosses it onto the floor.
“I’ll pick that up later. Because what I need to do can’t wait,” he says hungrily.
Ooh!
“What is that?” I ask.
“This,” Aiden says.
He puts his hands on my waist, his thumbs brushing cross the exposed sliver of skin on my midriff. I instinctively put my hands on his shoulders, feeling the sculpted muscle underneath my palms.
Aiden lowers his mouth and brushes his lips against mine. I open for him, but he doesn’t take advantage of it, straightening up instead, sliding one hand underneath my hair, caressing the back of my head gently with his fingertips while the other hand remains firmly planted on my waist. I feel the heat and roughness of his hand, yet the gentleness of his touch, and I think I’m going to be undone by this man.
“Hi,” Aiden says, staring at me through the inky fringe of his lashes.
