My eyes are drawn to the sheen of sweat on his chest, the line it traces downward like an invitation I shouldn’t accept. His gaze sharpens when he notices.
“I’m very attracted to you,” he says. “You’ve got this mouthy, sharp edge—sass wrapped around something soulful that makes it hard not to think about all the ways I’d like to shut you up.” His gaze doesn’t soften. If anything, it darkens. “You’re the kind of woman I’d usually disappear into for a while.”
He pauses, jaw working. “Maybe longer.”
I swallow. “I’m not exactly seeing the issue. That sounds like something we both might need.”
He lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s not the point.”
Then something shifts. The edge sharpens. The truth comes out. “Because something about you tells me it wouldn’t stay clean,” he says. “That with you, I wouldn’t know when to walk away and I’ve become accustomed to choosing women I can enjoy without it costing me anything. No fallout. No mess.”
I nod slowly, letting it sink in. “Okay…”
“And you,” he adds, his gaze dropping to my mouth like it’s pulling him in whether he wants it to or not. “You feel like the kind of trouble that doesn’t fade when it’s over.”
He looks at the flannel I'm wearing again, then lifts his eyes back to mine.
“You think it would be too messy,” I say. It’s not a question.
“Messy as fuck.”
My heart stumbles in my chest.
“And that’s why you were an asshole to me just now?” I ask softly.
He shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry if it felt that way. It was…” He shrugs. “Self-preservation. The less I do and say around you, the safer it is for both of us.”
“You’re scaring me, Bear,” I whisper. “But you’re doing a good job of making me curious.”
He almost smiles again. But the tension in him doesn’t break.
“I need you to understand, Max,” he murmurs, voice roughening. “I want to bury myself in you.” A beat. “And something’s telling me that is exactly why I shouldn’t.”
Then he steps closer, and this time, I’m the one who backs away. The look in his eyes isn’t just intense. It’s raw. Bare. Dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with harm and everything to do with desire.
“I don’t want you here,” he says, his voice gritty.
“What?” My back hits the counter.
He takes another step. “I don’t need you in my space. Not in my kitchen. Not wearing my flannel, making fucking pancakes while I’m trying to be the kind of man who says no when everything inside me is screaming yes.”
He closes the distance, stopping right in front of me, and I can see it clearly now. This man is fighting himself.
And he’s losing.
Two points for me and this flannel.
I lift a brow. “Is that why the perfect gentleman act last night? Why you didn’t even try anything?”
Shameless, I know. But I need to know if I’ve lost my touch and need to start doing more squats.
He frowns. “We just met, Max. While I’m accustomed to certain types of entanglements, this situation is different.”
“How so?”
“For starters, you were a guest in my home after being stranded on the road. I don’t care how cute you are—I needed to make sure you weren’t crazy.”
“Well,” I smile. “The day is still young.”
